Green Street Rising
by signalfire263
Summary: Two very different people leading very different lives are flung together and find themselves more often than not with only one another to face against the world. No matter what happen in their lives, fate has a way of pulling Pete Dunham towards Allie Harding.
1. Sugar

**No, you've not lost your mind or taken a hallucinogenic: this really is a new story. I've written this to mark the _NINTH_ anniversary since I first sat down in my University halls to pen What Could Have Been. And its been on here for _EIGHT_ years so...here's my gift. I've had this idea floating around in my head since I wrote WCHB because I always wanted to have a shot at writing Poppy Harding (Allie's mother) and Michael Dunham (Pete's dad). This isn't a child fic, it starts with Pete and Allie as children but that's just to get their backstory, we do as always have a signature SignalFire time jump so please bear with this first chapter. We won't be in 90s forever. Although with platform trainers and butterfly clips, I'd personally go back there in a nano second. PLEASE review, is cliché but they truly do keep a gal going.**

 **Thank you to anyone and everyone who continues to read my work. Its mindblowing.**

 **Enjoy. love, Ella. x**

* * *

Superstitions had never drawn much interest from Moira Dunham; she was never one to cross the street to avoid walking under a ladder, the black cat that stalked their garden every morning never bothered her, nor did the odd broken mirror, which being the mother of two boys was something she had to get used to whether she liked it or not.

A lucky number had always been her favourite…how the hell did anyone have a lucky number? Or worse a favourite? What in God's name did that even mean?

But now she realised how people came to acquire a beloved number. Because lord knows, she had several she hated.

Like the number 46, which was in pounds the current balance of her bank account.

3 was the temperature in degrees of her two bedroomed semi-detached house.

9 was the number of holes she had counted in Steve's school jumper two weeks after buying it.

And of course 5. Which was the number of job interviews she had gone to in the last four hours and been knocked back from every single one.

"Shit it," she whispered brokenly, pushing the newspaper away and slumping in her chair. She had to be at the hospital for her shift in a few hours and knew she should get some sleep but how could she?

Between Michael's extracurricular activities putting him out of work more and more often, they were struggling on the salary of a nurse. Steve had turned thirteen just last month and was apparently going on 35 what with all the money he needed and as for Pete…

A distinct crash sounded from upstairs and she sighed, shaking her head and fighting to keep her temper.

"That had better 'ave been something of yours going flying, Peter Dunham!" she shouted. "Because if you've broken another one of my figurines, so help me Christ…"

Hurrying down the hallway, she came to a stop at the bottom of the narrow stairs and glanced up, concerned when she saw nothing.

"Pete?" she coaxed.

"Piss it!" came a small hiss followed by an even louder bang.

"Watch your mouth!" Moira barked, taking the stairs as fast as her legs which were rigid with the cold would allow her to. "I can't leave you alone for four bloody seconds in this…"

She trailed off, her mouth going dry as she looked at her son sat on the landing, his blonde hair sticking to his head as water dripped down his face, a rusty looking wrench in his hand and a good half of the radiator dial smashed to bits on the floor.

"You said you was cold," Pete shrugged, wiping his nose with his sleeve. "I've seen dad do this a million times so I thought I'd be able to fix it,"

He snorted and chucked the wrench down onto the wooden floor, casting a glance up at his mother who worryingly was yet to utter a syllable in his direction.

"I'll Cellotape it back together," he gestured to the mess on the floor. "That's what Steve did with the door handle on the fridge and dad didn't notice for at least an hour,"

Long enough for Steve to start running any at rate, he thought with a bitter laugh.

"Oh sweetheart," Moira shook her head, her heart breaking as she realised that most other boys were probably just home from school watching cartoons and shoving every artificial flavour known to man down their gullets and here was her son trying to fix a radiator because he didn't realise the sad truth was, they had no heating because they had no money.

Sitting down next to him, she pulled him into a hug not in the least bit surprised when he hugged her back fiercely; unlike his brother, Pete had a way with people. He always knew what they needed without having to be asked.

"You're alright, don't worry," she leaned her cheek on the top of his head and tried to keep her voice steady. "We'll tell Dad it burst, we need a new one anyway,"

"We need a lot of new stuff," Pete mumbled, staring at the hole in the bottom of his school shoes which of course were yet another hand-me-down from Steve.

Hating herself more than she could recall from reason memory in that one moment, Moira bit her lip to keep from crying and shuffled away from her son, turning to him and giving him her best everything-is-alright grin.

"Well I've got a spare fiver in my bag so what do you say we go to the bakery before the cavemen get home and see what we can find?"

"Can I get football stickers if we have enough change?" Pete grinned, his eyes glittering mischievously.

"Cheeky sod," Moira laughed, playfully ruffling his hair. "I'll see what I can do, now come on before Swill gets there first and eats the lot."

She watched as he laughed, scrambling to his feet, slipping once or twice in the water which was still dripping from the radiator and raced to his room. Her boy. He never asked for anything, had so little and still didn't complain. He was as good as gold in her eyes, now it was just a case of holding up her end of the bargain and making sure he got as good as he deserved.

* * *

"I want the strawberry one like that little girl has,"

Poppy Harding glanced at the honey haired girl next to her and frowned.

" _NOW_!"

Poppy took in a deep breath and smiled at the man behind the till, trying her best to ignore the little slip of a thing currently elbowing her in the side. She saw sympathy in his eyes and smiled even wider, desperately trying to control her temper as the small blonde began thumping on the glass.

"Tillie!" A tall brunette pulled her away from the counter and scolded her half-heartedly whilst peering intently at her newspaper. "Don't do that,"

The mother glanced up then, catching Poppy's eye and smiling broadly; she was all lip fillers and baking soda white teeth.

"Aren't they terrible at this age?"

"Little horrors," Poppy laughed through gritted teeth knowing there was no realm in the universe in which her daughter would ever behave like that.

"Wouldn't change them for the world though, would we?"

"I WANT THE STRAWBERRY ONE!"

"Nope," Poppy cocked her head as she stared down at what may have very well been the spawn of Satan. "She is an utter... _darling_ ,"

"You are an utter liar," the man behind the counter grinned as the mother escorted her daughter from the small shop, the chubby cheeked brat happily munching into the strawberry shortcake cookie in her hand.

"Me?" Poppy placed a hand over her heart in mock outrage. "Shame on you, I'm officially insulted."

"Not as insulted as I am that the little princess isn't here with you," he peered over the counter.

"She's at home," Poppy smiled. "I thought I'd surprise her with her favourite. Christ knows I can't bake it so…"

"So you come to me to do the dirty work and you take all the credit?" the man grinned, dramatically flapping one of the paper bags and tutting at her. "You wound me,"

The Fernandez family bakery had been one of her favourite spots in London since she was a teenager; granted it meant a trip all the way over to the east of the city every now and then but when the chocolate fudge cake was this good, it was more than justifiable.

"So how's she doing at school this term?" Gio Fernandez asked, carefully assembling one of the large boxes to place the cake into. "Is she still-…"

"Oi, get off!"

Poppy turned towards the window and frowned, just able to make out the ruckus going on. She watched as a blonde boy no more than Allie's age shoved a taller boy backwards only to have one of this friends step forward and clock him right in the jaw.

"One second, Gio," she mumbled, not caring that she had left her purse on the counter as she scrambled through the queue of people and burst through the door out into the street. The boy was still laying on the ground, blood dripping from his lip onto the concrete.

"Thanks, Petey!"

Her head shot up and she saw the older boys smirking from down the street, one of them waving what looked like a £5 note in the air.

"You're a diamond."

"Wankers,"

The mumbled profanity made her grin and she crouched down, wincing when she saw how deep the split in his lip was. He ran a hand through his unruly hair and pushed himself onto his knees, freezing when he came face to face with the greenest eyes he'd ever seen in his life. The woman was…well she was gorgeous. In that old black and white movie star kind of way. She had a pixie haircut, layers of soft blonde framing her face and a kind smile that told him she wasn't about to verbally kick his arse or call the police. Glancing at her expensive looking clothes, he wondered what the hell she was doing in this side of town. Oh fuck, maybe she was one of those Bible bashers who was going to try and convert him to some cult.

"I fell," he told her quickly, backing away just a tiny bit.

"Well that's impressive," she nodded, her lips pursed. "I've never fallen face first onto someone's fist before. And I'm clumsy, trust me,"

She caught the slight smirk on his lips and felt at ease; this kid had to be no more than Allie's age, maybe a year between them. His bright blue eyes bore into hers and she felt her heart sink when she realised they were shining with tears.

"That fiver was meant to get my mum a cake," he rubbed his scuffed palms on his school trousers and wrinkled his nose at the trail of blood they left. "She gave me that and I let them…"

"First off," Poppy prodded his knee with a perfectly manicured finger. "You didn't them do anything, they're vile little gits. Secondly, you're in luck. I happen to know that Gio is about to throw out a cake that someone hasn't bothered to pick up so…it's yours for the taking." She shrugged. "You know that is if you like chocolate fudge with most kids don't so…"

"Seriously?" Pete grinned, ignoring the pain in his lip. "He's giving it away for free?"

"Yeah," Poppy shook her head. "I think he's nuts but…if he's got a taker…"

"Yeah!" He pulled himself to his feet and straightened his jumper, giving Poppy the shock of her life when he reached down and took her arm, pulling her to her feet gently. "You alright, you didn't get mud on you or nothing?"

Her heart melted and she smiled down at him.

"No, I'm alright," she winked. "Now come on, lets go get some cake and forget about those wankers,"

Pete's mouth dropped open and he stared at her wide eyed, trying to work out if he'd heard her right.

"Tell no one," she mouthed, holding the door open for him and gently pushing him through. Ignoring the questioning look Gio gave her, she proceeded to order another chocolate cake before tapping her finger on the box on the counter. "This is the one that was going in the bin wasn't it?" she met his eyes and nodded slowly. "Its just this young man would be more than happy to take it off your hands,"

"Oh," Gio nodded as he caught on, grinning and clapping his hands. "Absolutely, thank you, young sir,"

"Cheers," Pete nodded, taking the box and beaming up at the lady who had helped him. "And thank you, too. Mum will be well chuffed with this,"

"Where is your mum?" Poppy wondered, craning her neck to peer out onto the street again as Gio handed her her change.

"Job hunting," Pete shrugged. "Well, she says she's gone to the post office but I know she's looking at them crappy jobs they put in the window. You know cleaning and stuff."

Poppy fought to keep any sympathy off of her face knowing that that was the last thing this kid probably needed but her heart was breaking. Following him out of the shop, she walked beside him slowly, opening her box of cookies and handing him one before shoving one into her own mouth.

"Don't worry," she winked as he stared at her. "My kids are used to this, if I come home with 5 left out of a box of 20 then it's a victory."

Chuckling, Pete crunched down on the still warm chocolate cookie, his stomach rumbling gratefully.

"So your mum is a cleaner?" Poppy asked, wiping a crumb from her coat.

"Nah, she's a nurse," the boy answered. "A proper one, does all the injections and stuff. But we don't have enough money. My Dad don't work much anymore and there's me and my brother to look after so she's looking for someone else."

"Two jobs?" she let out a long breath. Alongside two kids. And a husband.

"Yeah well," Pete shrugged. "We'll win the lottery one day, that's what she always says."

Poppy cast her eyes up to the sky for a moment and stopped at her car, trying not to notice the look on Pete's face as he stared open mouthed at the silver land rover.

"Let me borrow that," she gestured to the cake box he was holding and crooked her finger at him when he just stared at her confused. "Come on, I'm not crazy, I promise."

She took the box from him and uncapping her pen with her teeth, scrawled her name and number across the top.

"Do me a favour," she smiled, crouching down to his level. "Tell your mum to call me, I think I might be able to help her out on the job front. And its even stuff she could do from home if she wanted,"

"I uh…we don't need…"

"Its not charity," Poppy met his gaze dead on. "Tell her to call me and pop over whenever she likes," she climbed into her car and grinned, rolling down the window. "And you can come too." She winked. "Bring cake,"

Pete watched as she drove off, still clutching the cake with the woman's name written on it.

 _Poppy_. Pretty name.

Grinning as he watched her car disappear down the street, looking hopelessly out of place amidst the worn down houses, he felt something in his chest, a warmth that told him for whatever reason, that woman was about to change all their lives for the better.

* * *

 **This was a first chapter so be gentle with it. I haven't written anything for a long while so I'm still getting back into the groove if you like. The next chapter is more entertaining, plus et to meet the infamous Michael Dunham and the Harding clan as well as the boys. The route this story takes will be very different to WCHB so bear with me. Love as always, El xxx**


	2. Spice

**Two chapters in 24 hours? Am I really going back to my days of being an OCD poster? There's a good chance I am because the more I write this story, the more I love it. Rise of Green Street didn't have the heart that WCHB and Intervals had and I think you guys knew that as much as I did, hence why I've put it on hiatus until further notice. This story on the other hand has got me going again and I'm seriously excited about it. Thank you for your kind words via PM, those who sent them and to Paratrooper56 who has read and reviewed so faithfully for FOUR BLOODY YEARS.**

 **This chapter is for you and all the 90' kids who will hopefully get the references to our fallen youth. And those of you who spot the Intervals references (I'm linking the universes), win a prize ;)**

* * *

Pete Dunham took a deep breath, his sapphire hued eyes focused hard on the stairs before him and the front door just ahead of them. All he had to do was run, get down there as fast as he could before his father or his brother saw him. He'd almost been glad of the pouring rain this morning, whilst it meant that football at lunch would be a no go, it did mean he could justify wearing his oversized hoodie which from the side concealed his bruised and sore looking lip.

His mother wasn't back from her night shift at the hospital left and he knew his dad wouldn't bother making breakfast for them so he was leaving early enough to stop by Bovver's and hopefully swipe a bacon sandwich.

"Pete!"

His father's voice boomed through the house and he flinched, his breath coming faster as his fist tightened on the stair rail.

 _Please stay in the kitchen, please stay in the kitchen, please stay in the kitchen._

"Don't miss that fuckin' bus, son because I ain't driving you to school," Michael Dunham barked. "I've got work to do around 'ere after you went and fucked up the radiator."

Not bothering to answer him, Pete simply took a deep breath as though he were about to dive to the depths of the ocean and ran full pelt down the stairs and out through the front door, his father's voice carrying after him. He didn't bother trying to decipher his message through the obscenities, he just wanted out of that house.

He kept running until he reached the corner, slowing down enough to catch his breath and hike his backpack father up onto his shoulder, his body finally relaxing. That was until a hand shot out from behind the old oak tree to his left and dragged him under it.

"I fuckin' knew it,"

Steve stared down at him, his eyes a fiercer more arctic blue than his own. Grasping his younger brother's chin, Steve gritted his teeth as he stared at the bruise on his lower lip.

"Who did this?" he growled, his eyes never leaving Pete's. "Don't tell me it was the old man?"

He swallowed hard, trying not to let Pete see the rage in his eyes; he knew that their father favoured him and truth be told he fucking hated it but he couldn't say anything. No one could say anything to Michael Dunham.

"Nah," Pete shrugged him off. "Just some tossers from year 9. I'm dandy,"

"Who?" Steve pressed.

"Piss off, Stevie," the younger man grinned, shoving him playfully. "If mum wasn't with me, you know they would 'ave come off a lot worse than I did,"

"Well that ain't the point is it?" Steve shot back, falling into step beside him. "And shove me again and see what 'appens, you little shit,"

He smirked and pulled Pete into a headlock, ruffling his hair as they dragged themselves to school, past the pool halls and the Lido which for some reason was still open in mid-September. Like anyone would swim in there anyway, it was basically a one stop shop for all your STI needs.

"Aye, aye," Steve called, squinting through the drizzling rain to the figure a few paces ahead of them. "Here's trouble,"

Bovver scowled at them, yanking a foil package from his pocket and chucking it at Pete who managed to catch it despite still being held under Steve's arm.

"Extra brown sauce," the brown haired boy muttered, nodding to his friend.

"How is it your mum makes me little brother a bacon sandwich every morning?" Steve raised an eyebrow. "What exactly do you have to do to get that kind of treatment?"

"A gentleman never tells," Pete smirked, taking a huge bite as Steve laughed loudly and Bovver flipped him the middle finger.

"Speaking of bacon," Bovver sniffed. "I ain't up for maths with Miss Shelly this morning, fancy headin' down the rec instead?"

"It's raining," Steve shot at him, narrowing his eyes. "And as if you do fuck all in her lessons anyway, just sit there and look pretty. I ain't having mum giving me shit for him skiving on the second week of term,"

Truth be told, Steve was more afraid of their father; despite taking little to no interest in Pete, the last time a school report had come through which sited Pete and Bovver had skipped school one day, Michael had suddenly become quite the disciplinarian. Closing his eyes for a short moment, Steve cringed, still able to hear the noise of the belt buckle hitting his brother's back.

"Alright, don't get your tits in a twist," Bovver shrugged. "I'll see what Ike is doing instead,"

"Oh don't be like that, you moody prick," Pete protested, his mouth full. "He was just…"

"I'll catch you at lunch," Bovver nodded, crossing the road and slipping into the woodland behind the bus stop.

Pete watched him go and then turned to his brother who was busy trying to shield his cigarette from the rain.

"What'd you do that for?" he shook his head.

"What?" Steve frowned, patting his pockets in search of a lighter. "Bovver?" he snorted. "Mate, he'll be fine. I don't know why you waste your time with him anyway, right moody little shit."

"He's my mate," the blonde protested. "I don't take the piss out of Terry,"

"Because Terry is a fucking top notch lad," Steve shrugged as though it was the simplest thing in the world. "He don't give me grief and he ain't trying to fuck me up,"

"How is Bovver-…"

"Mate, you're a smart fucker. I know it, you know it, like it or not the old man knows it and so does Bovver," he tapped Pete's temple lightly. "So despite breaking the Dunham mould and being born with more than 5 brain cells, you're going to fuck it up to stand around the park throwing rocks at walls with little Stewie Boverington? Fuck off,"

Pete blinked, apparently too blindsided by the compliment to jump to Bovver's defence a second time. Since when did Steve think he was smart or give a shit about his education? As far as Pete knew his brother was far from being a poster child for the British education system, so why should Pete be any different?

"Aye, aye!"

Both Dunham's turned to the sound of the all too familiar voice, both of them grinning when they spotted Terry Broughton, Steve's best friend, crossing the road with a large bundle over his shoulder.

"Put me down, you queer!" came a muffled voice. "I ain't Steve, you know."

"Yeah, put him down mate," Steve smirked, giving the younger, chubbier boy a quick swat across the behind. "You don't know where he's been,"

Crouching down in front of Pete, Terry winked at the blonde and cocked his head in Swill's direction.

"This yours?" he raised an eyebrow, grinning as Pete laughed before dropping his captive down onto the pavement.

"That was fucking uncalled for," Swill pointed at him, fighting to stand up with his bag strap around his neck.

"Yeah, well so is your porky little mug peeking through my sister's window every night, but here we are," Terry slapped him playfully around the head and fell into line with Steve.

"'ere give us a bite," Swill reached for what was left of Pete's bacon sandwich, grinning when he handed it over with a roll of his eyes.

"Every fucking morning," Pete shook his head.

"Every fucking morning," Terry and Steve chimed in unison behind them.

"I tell you something, Swilliam." Terry laughed. "You're getting a right fucking gut on you. Maybe stick to two breakfasts and not three, eh?"

"Three?" Steve raised an eyebrow.

"Fucker ate my cereal bar out of my bag," his friend gestured to his open back pack and laughed. They fell into comfortable conversation as they always did, Terry delivering the odd kick to Swill's backpack and sending him flying a few steps ahead.

"What 'appened?"

Terry spoke so quietly, Steve almost missed it, too busy dusting the cigarette ash from his clothes before Mr Spinks spotted it and chucked him in an after school again.

"Our boys new look," Terry explain, gesturing to Pete who was busy swapping football stickers with Swill.

"He won't give up any names," Steve let out a long breath. "All I know is whoever it was smacked him one, took his fiver and left him on his jack for someone to find."

"Esdon?" Terry offered.

"Nah, not his style," Steve shook his head. "Marky ain't the brightest lightbulb but even he knows not to go after Pete,"

"So that leaves…"

"Courden," Steve grabbed his friend's arm and pulled him to a stop. "I know. But mate, we open this can of worms…" he trailed off and shuffled his feet, slinging his bag farther up onto his shoulder. "I know my old man already has it in with his old man…if I touch a hair on his head, I may as well light a fire under my own roof, drink some petrol and piss on the flames,"

"Colourful," Terry pursed his lips. "And yet you're failing English,"

"What can I say?" Steve smirked. "I save my poetics for the pitch and the ladies,"

"So what, we do nothing?" the brown haired boy shook his head, nodding to a few friends who were stood outside the gates as they entered the formidable St Marks playground. "Just let him knock Pete about and fucking smile at him?"

Steve stopped, spotting Mark Courden across the playground; he was the exact image of his father, his head shaved shorter than the school would allow, his dark eyes flitting menacingly about the yard until he spotted Pete and Swill and gave them a wave and a sickly smile.

Feeling his blood pressure spike a few notches, Steve smirked, slinging an arm around Terry's shoulders and pulling his head closer.

"Now I didn't quite say that, did I?" he nodded to himself. "Get the lads round the PE block at lunch, we'll work something out."

He eyed Mark dangerously, his fists clenching at his sides as he cast another look at his younger brother, the cut on his lip looking sore in the frosty morning light.

"He might be his father's son," Steve sniffed, raising his chin. "But then again, so am I."

* * *

"Do I ' _ave_ to?"

Moira stared at her son as he sat on his bedroom floor surrounded by sticker books, football trading cards all of which had seen better days strewn about carelessly.

"Do you have to come with me to see the woman who picked your sorry arse off of the pavement and offered me a job without meeting me?" she raised an eyebrow. "Yes, you bloody do,"

Pete rolled his eyes, slamming his book closed and clambering to his feet, reaching for his trainers and freezing only when his mother let out a laugh.

"Oh no you bloody don't," she pointed at him. "Change out of that, there's no way I'm taking you to bleedin' Kensington looking like something from Oliver Twist,"

"What's wrong with these?" Pete cried, gesturing down to his West Ham tracksuit bottoms. "I wore 'em to the doctors the other week,"

"And I doubt you've taken 'em off since then," Moira wrinkled her nose in disgust. "School trousers and a nice jumper. Come on,"

"Wait a second," Pete laughed. "You want me to go to some posh bird's house in my school uniform out of school hours and _not_ look like a tit?"

"Lord, give me strength," Moira cast her eyes to the heavens and tried not to laugh. "Just put on some jeans then, will you? Just something that don't scream bread line,"

"Do I bow or courtesy?" Pete shot back, reaching down and snagging his jeans from the floor.

"In this instance, I'd say both," his mum dead panned, causing him to crack a grin.

He yanked the jeans on, freezing when something occurred to him.

"I ain't drinking no weird tea," he told her, his eyes serious. "And I ain't eating _anything_ with fish in it."

"Right," Moira chuckled under her breath, straightening the navy blue blouse she was wearing, the one that had only seen the light of day at Christmas and the odd dinner out. Maybe it was too much? Jesus, Christ. She thought, touching her hair and wondering if she was going overboard. Chances are once this woman who had been lovely on the phone actually met her, there was no way in hell she would-

"You look well nice," Pete's voice broke her from her self-destructive reverie and she blinked, watching as he pulled a grey sweater over his head and ruffled his hair. "Blue is nice on you. Makes our eyes look the same,"

Feeling tears sting her eyes, Moira dropped down onto his bed and patted the mattress next to her, wrapping her arm around him when he bounded over and sat down next to her. Kissing the top of his head, she rested her cheek there and sighed, wishing that things were different. Wishing she had stayed in college and become a doctor instead of a nurse. Wishing she had perhaps married a different man so that Pete and Steve would be happy, living in a neighbourhood without a curfew or police tape around every other corner.

"This lady seemed sound," Pete told her. "I reckon we could be onto something with her."

"You think?" Moira asked him, hating the way her voice wavered.

"Yeah," he nodded, pulling back and grinning at his mum. "She seemed like someone who gave a proper crap, you know. I reckon she could help you out."

"Maybe," his mother straightened his hair and grinned, her eyes twinkling mischievously. "And she tells me she's got three kids of her own, so you never know…you might make some friends n'all."

Pete snorted, regarding her as though she were crazy as he bent down to yank on his trainers, determined that the trousers were enough. He wasn't going to meet the bloody Queen.

"Me hanging out with some posh kids? Sitting around reading Dickens for fun and trading polo stories?" he laughed. "Tell you what, if I end up so much as not hating any of 'em, I'll buy you a McDonalds on the way home,"

"Deal," Moira laughed, following him down the stairs and out into the cold, her heart racing as she wondered if her son was onto something and this really was the evening that would change things for the better.

* * *

"Do I _have_ to?"

Poppy glanced across the table, her forkful of roast lamb coming to a stop just before it hit her lips. Resting it back down, she set her eyes on the blonde halo of hair spilling out all over the oak table top and bit her lip to keep from grinning.

"Yes, you do," she took a sip of her wine, winking at her husband across the table. "Moira is coming over in an hour and I think it would be nice if you spent some time with-…"

"But he's a boy!" Allie Harding grumbled, lifting her head just enough to glare at her parents. "What am I supposed to talk to him about? Training bras or tampons?"

"Oh, Christ," Harry recoiled from his plate in disgust, throwing his cutlery onto the table. "If I have to have a swear jar, can't we get her something for that?"

"All those in favour of a bra jar?" Richard raised an eyebrow at his children, noting the scowl from his daughter and laughing.

"Darling, I'm sure he's lovely," Poppy placed her hands on the table and met her daughter's eyes. "His mother is such a wonderful woman and the apple never falls far from the tree,"

"EuuruRichardhmmm," Harry coughed, causing Allie to laugh and his older brother to glare at him across the table. "Oh don't pout," he grinned. "Allie gets jealous that you're prettier when you do that,"

"You know what?" Allie cried, pushing her chair back and shaking her head. "Why can't I have a _normal_ family?"

"Definition, please," Richard coaxed, leaning back in his chair with his wine glass against his lips to conceal his smile.

"A brother who isn't an arse, another brother who isn't an arse, a father who doesn't side with the arses and a mother who doesn't bring home street urchins," Allie shrugged, ignoring her mother's laughter.

"Urchins?" she raised an eyebrow.

"Word of the day toilet paper," Harry winked, popping a roast potato into his mouth. "Got to be,"

"You're all sods," Allie giggled, despite herself, not in the least bit surprised when her father and brother began thumping on the table and chanting "SWEAR JAR!" at her.

"We'll have enough money to travel the world at this rate," Richard chuckled, reaching across for his wife's hand. "Just think, we could leave them here. A few tins of beans and some water. They'd be fine,"

"Mmmmm, Mexico," Poppy sighed wistfully.

"Tequila for breakfast, lunch and dinner," Richard agreed. "Balls to you lot, you can stay here. Form a gang with Allie's street urchin friend,"

"I'm too pretty for the streets," the junior of the two Richards muttered through a mouthful of carrots.

"Good lord," his father sat back in his chair. "Was that a joke?"

"Buddy Holly made a funny," Harry nodded.

"I demand another jar for such occasions," their father slammed his fist down on the table, coaxing a laugh out of all of them.

"Right, enough!" Poppy shook her head. "They'll be here in an hour and I want them thinking we're mildly normal."

"If it's normal you're going for then throwing your ten year old daughter at her son like some bizarre arranged marriage meeting probably isn't the way to go," Allie stabbed at her food.

"Oh darling, no one is asking you to marry him," Poppy soothed. "From what I saw, the poor boy has been through enough,"

"Oooooh!" Harry jumped out of his chair and placed a hand on his sister's forehead. "Just what I thought…burned. From the rarest of all burns…the mother burn,"

"A-thank you," Poppy bowed, pushing her plate away and resting her chin on her hands. "Allie, darling please?"

The blonde took a deep breath; her ivy green eyes focused unwaveringly on the table before her. Not for the first time, Poppy noted how gorgeous her girl was. Even now at just ten, you could tell she was going to be a knockout; her honey blonde hair framed her face which was changing every day, a few tiny freckles scattered across her delicate nose, her eyes which were ivy and then lighter green towards the iris as spirited as her mothers.

"Please?" she pressed.

"Yeah, come on, Allie-cat," Harry pouted, resting his head on her shoulder. "I've got rugby, Buddy Holly has chess club…"

"I'm going to running practice, you git," his brother barked.

"So that only leaves you to take poor Oliver under your wing," he carried on.

"Alright!" she cried, shoving him away. "Fine, I'll stay here and play with the boy I've never met,"

"Bit of trivia for you," her father leaned forward. "This is probably the second to last year of your life when you can says those words in front of your father and brothers and we won't all have coronaries."

"I sense another jar developing," Harry pursed his lips.

"Enough with the shitting jars!" Poppy burst out, closing her eyes when she felt them all turn to look at her. Opening them again, she caught their grins and sighed, dropping her chin down to her chest before standing from the table and collecting her plate. "Will a fiver do it?"

"Better make it ten," Allie told her, their laughter following her all the way into the kitchen.

* * *

When Pete was seven, he had "accidentally" stayed up late with Steve one night and watched Bram Stoker's Dracula. He didn't remember much beyond it being the first time he had seen a girl naked from the waist up and the doors on Dracula's house were these huge, oak monstrosities with lion crests on them.

Just like the doors to this house.

House didn't seem like the right term, however; as far as Pete was concerned, he lived in a house. This was a small city. Two gargantuan iron gates led up a paved driveway, a fountain sat in the middle, the finest layer of ice on its surface as it was dwarfed by the Tudor mansion behind it. It was covered in ivy, the chequered window panes peeking through into the bleak misty evening. But unlike Dracula's castle, there was a warmth about this place. Something that made it different from the other mansions along the road.

"Blimey," Moira breathed, coming to a stop in front of the door. "You reckon we've got the right place?"

"It can't be," Pete scoffed, rocking back on his heels and staring up at the Victorian lantern above them. "All I know is we should ring the bell before someone thinks we're casing the joint and calls the filth,"

"Don't be so stupid," Moira laughed, playfully clipping him on the side of the head.

Taking a deep breath, she rang the bell, her heart faltering and then going into overdrive when she heard footsteps approaching, the lanterns either side of the door flickering to life as she heard the lock twist.

The door opened slowly and with a creek, a hunched and hooded figure coming into view as it leaned against the doorframe.

"Come in…." it coaxed, its voice warbled and off key. "What brings thee here on this terrible ni-… _oh bugger_!"

"Crying out loud," Poppy frowned as she lowered the magazine she had used to bash Harry with, pulling the hood of his school hoodie down and glaring at him. "I knew we should have adopted,"

Casting her eyes to the shocked looking woman and smirking young boy on the porch, she straightened her sweater and rolled her eyes.

"Please forgive the offspring, Harry was born in the year of the great storm and I strongly suspect has some association with Satan,"

"She says that like it's a bad thing," he quipped, pulling the door open further. "Come on in,"

"Moira, so lovely to meet you," Poppy shook her hand with both of hers and smiled warmly. "Sorry to drag you out here,"

"Its um…not a bother…please don't..um," Moira stumbled over her words. What the hell was happening? Twenty minutes ago she'd been driving down Selsdon Road, shouting out of her window at the kids playing football in the street and now here she was in a house that looked like something from a bloody Austen novel with a Princess Di lookalike shaking her hand.

"Here, let me take your coat," Poppy held out her hand and Moira handed it to her, praying she didn't see the label or the missing top button. "I've got the kettle on and Eastenders is just about to start,"

"Don't tell me you watch Eastenders?" Moira laughed, feeling more relaxed by the moment as she followed the blonde down a corridor lined with photos and framed finger paintings.

"Don't tell me you don't," Poppy gasped. "That Grant Mitchell is to die for,"

Laughing louder, Moira turned to Pete and smiled broadly reassuring him that this wasn't what either of them thought it would be.

"So you play rugby?" Pete cleared his throat and gestured to the mousy haired boy next to him; Pete had to guess he was around 14 at most. Typical posh boy hair cut but time would tell.

"Only when I'm not on the yacht or playing water polo with Prince William," he deadpanned.

Pete met his gaze and smirked, shaking his head.

"Oh as if you weren't thinking it," Harry laughed, shoving him forward into a separate hallway. Pete lost sight of his mother and panicked momentarily, unsure of how to behave in this kind of situation. If this was Bovver's house, he'd have flung his shoes off and would be wrestling for the remote by now.

"Truth be told, yes, I play rugby and yes, it makes me a slight bellend, BUT…" He turned to Pete and raised a finger in the laughing boys face. "I also happen to be N64 champion of the universe and we have ten minutes before I have to go to game practice and you're stuck with my arse of a baby sister so I vote we take this chance to divide the men from the mice,"

"Golden Eye?" Pete narrowed his eyes; truth be told it was the only game he had played on an N64. They didn't come cheap and when you lived in a house where you had to defrost the bathroom mirror before brushing your teeth in the morning, things like that weren't deemed a necessity.

"We're going to get along fine," Harry grinned, holding out his hand. "Harry Harding,"

"Pete Dunham," the blonde nodded, following him down a smaller corridor where he threw open a door to reveal what looked like every kids dream.

It was a den, the walls oak and ivy green, the ceiling decorated with glow in the dark stars. The divide was clear, posters for Blur and English rugby on one side, the other adorned with an Oasis poster as well as one for All Saints and…

"Spice Girls?" Pete raised an eyebrow.

"My sisters," Harry explained, rolling his eyes.

"What he doesn't want you to know is that it's actually his," something breezed past him, all flowers and body spray. He caught a flash of blonde and turned, his jaw going slack as he spotted her.

"I'm just borrowing it," Allie grinned, flopping down into a beanbag and reaching for a magazine.

 _Fuck. Me_.

Pete had had crushes before; he might be eleven but he wasn't retarded, he knew what girls were. He'd even noticed a few of the ones at school, dedicating entire lunch hours to spotting training bra straps with the boys. But none of those girls looked like this.

"That," Harry pointed blindly from where he was crouched in front of the TV, sifting through the box of games. "Is my aforementioned arse of a little sister,"

Allie stood up, her legs shaky for some reason as she took a step forward and smiled. No one had warned her the boy would be in any way cute. Thankfully the fates had pushed her to throw on her pale pink spaghetti strap top and her favourite chequered trousers, the ones Harry always told her looked like pyjamas but what the hell did he know? He hadn't even watched Clueless.

"I tend to go by Allie," she nodded, unsure of whether she should shake his hand. What was the protocol here? Going to an all girls' school didn't make her the savviest when it came to boys. The only ones she ever met where her brothers' friends who were at best atrocious mongrels.

"Pete," he choked out, shoving his hands in his pockets and then removing them again.

Don't look to see if she's wearing a bra. He told himself. Keep your fucking eyes on her face…do not check to see if…

His eyes disobeyed and darted down to where he could clearly see a purple strap peeking out from beneath her vest and bit the inside of his cheek. Fucking hell. Someone was trying to kill him.

"Game on, Pedro," Harry called, barely giving the younger boy time to react before he tossed a controller his way. "Allie, be a doll and grab us some cookies would you?"

"Here's something you can grab," Allie smiled sweetly, holding up her middle finger and coaxing a surprised laugh from Pete. Yep, she definitely wasn't like any of the girls he had met before.

"But um…" she turned back to Pete, trying not to notice how blue his eyes were. Oh God, she needed Lara here. Lara was Zsa Zsa Gabor reincarnate according to her mother and whatever that meant, she was good with people and great with talking to boys. "If you're hungry, I'm pretty sure we have some pudding left. It was sticky toffee, I can heat it up if you like?"

"Sounds blindin', it was brass monkeys out there," Pete smiled then cringed when she gave him a frown.

What was rule number 3 his mum had laid down on the way here? No Cockney.

"Um…right," Allie turned away from him slightly, her eyes wide. "Gotcha,"

"Oi, Dick Van Dyke," Harry laughed. "If you're through confusing Mary Poppins over there, player two needs to check in,"

Pete nodded, giving the blonde girl one last apologetic smile before jumping over the sofa and landing on the floor next to Harry, taking the pad from him and selecting his character. Pressing as many buttons as he could to stop himself thinking about the girl behind him and the fact he'd taken all but 5 seconds to make an arse of himself.

Brilliant.

* * *

 **I loved writing this chapter, it was so much fun so I can only hope you enjoyed reading it. The next chapter has Allie and Pete actually talking to one another properly AND the trademark all important time jump so keep your eyes pealed for updates and as always if you could leave a review it would make a gals day :) love, el xx**


	3. And All Things Nice

**Aaaand we're back! Apologies for not continuing the OCD posting yesterday, I had a bitch of a migraine so spent the entire day in bed feeling terribly sorry for myself. But one good nights sleep and about 54684321 grams of nurofen later, here I am! :) Thank you as always for your wonderfully kind words, I'm so glad people are still reading my stuff. Its pure self indulgence at this point but I apologise for nothing!**

 **Annabelle, you star, you spotted the Intervals references. Richard's nickname of Buddy Holly was also in there. I shall think of a prize shortly ;)**

 **Please enjoy this chapter, we have ourselves a seven year time jump midway through so yep, grown up Pete and Allie interaction. To those who PM'd, yes Matt will feature in this story as will Benjamin (I can't believe how many people love him! haha).**

 **Any questions or comments, my PM box is always open. :) Also be warned, this story may have been sweetness and light so far but that's all about to change.**

 **Enjoy xx**

* * *

"It's in adjournment at the moment," Poppy sighed, pouring herself another cup of tea, her long fingers delicately wrapping themselves around the string of her peppermint teabag and pulling it from the water. "But once we're back on track which please God will be within the next two weeks, it's really going to hit the fan,"

Moira nodded, her own hands clasping her cup of tea which she'd barely taken a sip from; Poppy had been filling her in on the case she and her husband were working on and all she could think about was the fact she would never have enough time to clean a house this big and get back over to Newham before…

"So what do you think?" Poppy smiled at her, all white teeth and perfect lipstick.

"I think you're mental," Moira laughed. "And I thought changing IV lines was a pain, I've got no idea what you just said."

Poppy laughed, warming to the other woman more and more as they spoke.

"Well, you'll catch on, trust me," she rolled her eyes. "Law gets into your brain whether you want it to or not,"

"I'll take that as a challenge," Moira chuckled, glancing around and feeling her heart wrench knowing that the marble counter tops in the kitchen probably cost more than her entire house. "But if you wouldn't mind, I 'ave a few questions,"

"God no," Poppy shook her head. "Of course, I'd be amazed if you didn't. Mad woman who by definition was a stranger from whom your son took candy offers you a job…" she narrowed her eyes and cocked her head. "You're not police, are you?"

Moira threw her head back and let out a laugh which seemed to echo in the gigantic room; she couldn't think of any time in recent memory when she had been so relaxed. So happy to just sit here in her £12.00 blouse with her chipped nail varnish and feel accepted. Her thoughts momentarily strayed back to Michael whom she had told she was going to Pete's school for an open evening. If he knew she was here…

"Well, um…" she took a sip of tea and swallowed hard, pushing thoughts of her husband and his ever failing sobriety from her mind. "Would I have to bring my own stuff? I don't know if your last cleaner brought things and left them here…"

Poppy frowned at her and she panicked, wondering if she was pushing it too far.

"I 'ave got my own bits obviously, brooms and mops. But well, my house ain't quite as big as yours and…"

"Moira," Poppy shook her head, leaning forward and meeting her eyes. "You've lost me,"

"Cleaning products," the woman pressed, a strand of her mousy brown hair coming loose and falling into her eyes which were starting to dart about nervously. "I mean, if these counters need special stuff, I don't know if I can afford…"

"You think I brought you here to _clean my house_?" Poppy felt her jaw sagging, her eyes widening in horror. "Oh my God, I'm so sorry!"

"It's alright, love," Moira laughed. "Don't worry about it, I…'ang on, what?"

"Moira, I don't want to hire you as a cleaner," the blonde laughed. "Not that there's anything wrong with cleaning houses but…no, God no. I wanted to see if you'd be interested in some clerk work. Secretarial."

Moira's eyes widened and she froze, unsure of whether this was a sick joke.

"I can't promise it'll be amazingly stimulating, it'll be a lot of faxing and typing and helping me with phone records but…I can start you on £20.00 an hour, more if you need and of course, transport is on me. If you're coming the whole way over…"

She trailed off, noticing the tears in Moira Dunham's eyes and felt instantly guilty. Oh shit. She'd been so careful not to come across as high handed or do anything to make Moira feel like this was a handout and somehow, she'd buggered it up.

"I'm so sorry," she reached out, clasping Moira's hand. "I didn't mean to offend you, I just…"

"I went for an interview in a pub last week and got told I didn't 'ave enough experience to clean their toilets," Moira shook her head. "And you want me to help you with a case? A legal case?"

"I would love for you to help me," Poppy nodded. "But that choice is all yours, I just need you to remember that you're working with me not for me and that this isn't a hand out."

Catching her look of disbelief, Poppy shuffled her chair closer to Moira's and kept her hands locked in her own.

"I'm not religious," she shook her head. "I've seen children being buried in shoeboxes in Africa, I've stood in court rooms with men –and women- who have done the most unspeakable things. You don't see and hear things like that and come out of it praising a man who thought socks with sandals was a good move."

Moira laughed though it sounded on the verge of becoming a sob.

"But call me crazy, I believe in fate. I believe I was meant to be the only one at a campaign march who knew first aid and had to rescue the pillock who became my husband because he gave himself concussion falling off the roof of a car. I believe I was meant to have a daughter whose taste in cake forces me to make a monthly trip across bloody London because it brought me to your son and it brought you to me."

She smiled, squeezing Moira's fingers for a moment before letting them go and reaching for the biscuit tin.

"I also believe there will come a day when my metabolism turns to shit and I will pay with my waist line for every single bite of this macaroon but balls to it." She took a bite and grinned. "Say yes, work with me on this project. Give it a try, that's all I ask,"

Moira took a deep breath and laughed to herself, unable to believe something like this was happening to someone like her. She thought of Pete and Steve, of all the things they could have if she took this opportunity which paid more than her nursing wage.

"Go on then," she smiled through her tears.

"Was that to the macaroon offer or the job?" Poppy raised an eyebrow, her mouth full. "Because if it's the macaroons you want, we may have to negotiate,"

Both women laughed before Poppy stood and pulled her into a hug, rubbing her back as she felt a tear on her shoulder. There wasn't much good left in the world, her mother had once told her, so do what you can to make some.

Seeing Moira Dunham wipe her eyes and sit down, pulling a notebook from her purse on which she'd written a list of cleaning suppliers, Poppy watched with a grin as she scribbled it out and asked her what ad infinitum meant. Yes, it was possible to create good in the world. You just had to hope it stayed that way.

* * *

Allie Harding had learned in the last fifteen minutes that Geri Halliwell's favourite dinner was macaroni cheese, that she and Emma Bunton had the same shoe size and that one or more of the Gallagher brothers had definitely shagged Kate Moss. Fifteen minutes in the same room as a boy who was Nick Carter level cute and she hadn't said a word.

But then neither had he. He'd stuttered something in her direction when she'd handed him the bowl of sticky toffee pudding but that was it. Since Harry had left for rugby…not a word.

"Bollocks,"

 _Strike that from the record_. _The beast speaks._

Her head snapped up and she saw from the screen that Pete Dunham was faring as well in Golden Eye as she did in ballet class. Ballsing it up royally was the phrase Lara often opted for.

Behind him, Pete could hear a faint giggle and didn't know whether to smile or be pissed off. She was laughing at him. Little-Miss-Give-Me-The-Googly-Eyes-And-Then-Sit-In-Silence was laughing at him. He was so caught up in pressing the buttons on the controller hard enough to gain an indent in his thumbs that he didn't notice her until she was right there next to him.

"What are you doing?" he asked her, feeling guilty at the sharpness of his voice. But she'd thrown him off dammit. He was in the zone and then there she was with her purple bra straps and her weird floral body spray.

"Saving your arse by the looks of it," Allie shrugged, reaching for Harry's abandoned controller and stepping in, blinking when she saw Natalia on the screen. "I can't be the only one who thinks its creepy that my brother insists on playing as a girl,"

Pete laughed, watching as she cocked her head and stuck her tongue out in concentration, navigating her character through the game and towards him, taking down a guard who had a gun to his head.

"You're welcome," she grinned, blowing a piece of hair out her eyes.

"I saw him there," Pete narrowed his eyes. "I was just biding my time,"

"Until he killed you?" she countered, the smile evident in her voice.

"Says the bird who thought a leather skirt was a good choice for an assassination mission," he gestured to the screen.

"Oh as if you're complaining," Allie scoffed. "Gotcha!"

Pete smirked as she took down another guard in his way and bit his lip thoughtfully wondering how he should play this. He didn't really speak to girls unless it was to shout at them to get out of the way in the playground at lunch. Especially Kim and Georgie who were always tarting about with their weird hairclips shaped like insects and glitter all over them.

"So where do you go to school?" he asked her, cringing at how high his voice went. Christ, he could just imagine Steve and Terry pissing themselves if they could hear this.

"Winchester Academy," Allie titled her controller again. "You?"

Pete stopped momentarily to stare at her, the weight of his situation becoming that little bit heavier. Whilst he didn't exactly hang out with the cream of society, even he knew the Winchester Academy in Belgravia was one of the poshest and most expensive schools in the country.

Straightening his legs out in front of him so as to make absolutely sure she couldn't see the hole in his left shoe, he cleared his throat and attempted to get some pride back into his voice.

"St Marks in Newham," he nodded.

Allie dropped her controller into her lap and turned to stare at him, her emerald eyes boring into the side of his head.

"As in..the school with the dead body in the football field?"

Pete laughed; that was definitely a new one.

" _Two_ dead bodies," Pete told her, his eyes never leaving the screen. "Home of the Kray Twins,"

"Sod off," Allie laughed. "I didn't really believe it,"

"Whatever you say, Princess," he smirked, playfully knocking her controller out of her lap.

"Okay, as someone who grew up having to defend herself against two older brothers, believe me when I say don't start what you can't finish," she narrowed her eyes, standing and taking on a kung fu position. Or at least a Sporty Spice one.

"Oh, blondie," Pete shook his head, standing and reaching for a cushion and twirling it between his fingers before lifting it above his head. "Famous last words if ever I heard 'em,"

* * *

"I just don't get what's so amazing about it," Allie frowned staring up at the night sky, her body still warm from their play fight. It had taken three fake truces before a real one was made swearing in the name of the N64 itself that no pillow would be lifted again in anger. "It's a bunch of guys running around being paid millions to kick a ball into a net,"

"Are you out of your tree?" Pete cried, turning his head to look at her and ignoring the way the slightly damp grass brushed against his cheek. "It's an art form,"

"So is applying body glitter," the blonde grumbled. "No one gives you a million pounds for that,"

Smirking, Pete lifted his hands and clapped slowly, not entirely enjoying the weird feeling he got in his chest when she laughed. Why did he care?

"Thank you," she gave a royal wave towards the sky. "That's all I ever asked for,"

They fell into silence again as they had for the last hour and stared up at the night sky; it amazed Pete how much of it he could see out there. Granted they were still very much in London but simply not being in a built up council estate made all the difference. He could see the constellations that Mr Woolley was always rambling on about in Science. Even the air felt different, lighter somehow. And there were no sirens, no alarms going on, no shouting in the distance. All he could hear was her breathing and it made him want to fall asleep.

"Have you lived him all your life?" he asked her, not sure where the question had come from.

"I have, yeah," Allie nodded. "My parents moved here when my oldest brother Richard was four. Before that they lived all over the world. I guess they wanted to settle down, whatever that means. I don't get why you can't settle down in Paris…or Africa…"

"You don't like London?" Pete frowned.

"I love London," she answered softly. "I guess I just…wonder what else is out there." She shrugged and turned towards him, jumping slightly when she noted his bright blue eyes were already focused on her. "What about you?"

"My mansion is down the road," Pete grinned. "Makes this place look like a shed,"

"Funny," Allie elbowed him. "I meant your home,"

"My home," Pete snorted, glancing away from her and for the first time in an hour wanting nothing more than to get up and run out of there. He didn't want to go into this with her; not when they were laying in her huge garden next to a swimming pool in the shadow of a mansion. "I live with my mum obviously and my dad and my brother Steve,"

"No sisters?" she asked.

"Nah," Pete winked at her. "What would I want a girl around me all the time for?"

"Hey," Allie laughed, elbowing him again as he chuckled along with her, highlighting not for the first time the small cut on his bottom lip.

"Does that hurt?"

Pete frowned, not certain what she was on about; he watched as she lifted a finger to her own full lips and tapped her bottom one, signalling what she meant. He stiffened; fuck, he'd hoped it wasn't so noticeable now.

"Shit," he grinned but Allie noticed it didn't meet his eyes like the others had. "You can see it? And after I spent all that time putting make up on,"

"Oh well, you know your eye shadow looks amazing," she played along. "And the blush? Pffft, forget about it,"

Pete laughed, a real laugh this time, his heartbeat returning to normal as she lay back down, her beautiful eyes which had felt like a heat lamp on him returning to the sky.

"Whatever it is," she shrugged, not wanting to make a big deal of it. "If you ever wanted to tell me about it, you could." She turned back to face him and their eyes locked. "If you wanted,"

"I'll let you know, blondie," he told her, surprising himself with the fact he actually meant it. He had no idea what it was about this girl but he felt like he could talk to her; as it was their lives couldn't be more different and yet here he was laying on the grass with her talking about everything from N64 to footie to his family. What the hell was she doing to him?

Suddenly a shriek sounded from inside the house and they both sat up, staring at the huge bay windows, lit with amber from the inside where the fire crackled and kettle whistled.

"Do you reckon one of 'em killed the other?" he frowned.

"No, that was definitely a Harding shriek of happiness," Allie nudged him with her shoulder. "I think your mum took the job,"

Pete grinned; he had been astounded when Allie explained to him that her parents were lawyers and had been looking for a secretary or something to do typing and all that office crap. It was the kind of job his mum deserved; she was better than scrubbing toilets for £3.50 an hour.

"I reckon so," he nodded, turning to the blonde and grimacing. "Fuck, you don't reckon that means we have to see each other again, do ya?"

Allie stood up and grabbed one of Harry's Nerf guns from a nearby bench, loading it with one of the foam darts and turning to aim it at Pete, giggling when he gave a shout and rolled over, desperately trying to reach the other.

"In your dreams, Dunham," she smirked, her finger tightening on the trigger. "In. Your. Dreams."

 **Seven Years Later**

"HAPPY RESULTS DAY!"

Pete Dunham left out a painful oomph as he was rudely awakened by a pillow slamming into his stomach, his bed dipping rhythmically as his eyes snapped open and he tried desperately to work out what the hell was going on.

"Get up, get up, get up!"

That voice.

His smirked, closing his eyes again and rolling onto his front before pushing his face deeper into his pillow, pretending she wasn't there and knowing it would drive her crazy.

"It's not even 8am, Harding," Pete mumbled. "Sod off and make me some toast, then we'll talk."

"She's been 'ere since bloody 7," Steve snorted as he re-entered the room, towelling off his wet hair and grinning at the blonde perched on the edge of his brother's bed. "Get up and put 'er out of 'er misery, will ya?"

"See _that,_ that right there is why you have always been my favourite Dunham," Allie told him, her eyes twinkling as he grinned back.

Steve chuckled as he met the all too familiar ivy green eyes that had frequented this house the last seven years. Although gone was the shy, freckly girl behind them, in her place a young woman with curves in all the right places, her ridiculously short school skirt riding up that tiny bit higher as she shook Pete from his slumber. How the hell his brother was immune to it, he'd never know.

"Take that back," the sleeping blonde mumbled. "I've always been your favourite Dunham,"

"Not all that true, actually," she countered thoughtfully. "Gotta love your mum, Stevie over there is a definite second, Winston is third…"

"The fucking _dog_ ranks higher than I do?" Pete cried, opening just one eye to glare up at the halo of blonde above him.

"To be frank, his hygiene is better than yours," Allie told him seriously, shrieking when he lunged at her, pulling her down onto the bed and hitting her with his pillow. "You just broke a seven year no pillow figh truce, you bitch!" she cried.

"The truce means piss all to me," Pete grinned, pinning her hands down in one of his. "But if you tell me I'm your favourite, I'll see what I can do about reinstating it,"

"Fuck me," Steve muttered to himself, shaking his head as he glanced over at them. He didn't know how long it would take but one day, when the sexual tension finally hit the two of them, he could only pray he was on another continent.

"Bleedin' 'ell," Moira peered into the room, her curlers still in her hair as she rubbed the sleep from her eyes. "Should I call the old bill?"

"Call the fucking nut house," Steve cocked his head towards where Pete was still wrestling Allie, a pillow firmly over her face.

"Oh 'ello, darling," she called.

"Muuhnin Muuurh," Allie's voice came out muffled and breathless, one of her delicate hands which was still trapped in Pete's waving pathetically from its confines.

"Jesus, Pete, let the girl up, you'll kill her," Moira rolled her eyes before padding out towards the bathroom.

"She's fiiiiine," he drawled with a grin. "Come on. Magic words," Pete coaxed, leaning down to where her face was still covered and listening carefully.

"Puh tuh muuh huu guuh uh tuh wuhh"

"Once again?" he ripped the pillow from her face.

"Pete is the most handsome man in the world, my best friend and favourite Dunham," Allie shook her head at him, feigning disgust. "Happy?"

"As a fucking clown," he winked at her, trying to keep his eyes away from the gap in her shirt where he could see the tiniest bit of pale blue lace. They might be best mates but Christ, he was only human. "That cut me to the core, Harding,"

"Oh as if you have feelings that go beyond the realms of drunk, pissed off and horny," she flashed him a smile, knowing she was one of three people in the world who could get away with taunting him like this.

"Oh yeah?" Pete raised an eyebrow, he bent his head down so close to hers that the tips of their noses nearly touched and for whatever reason, Allie felt her stomach clench. "Well you forgot hungry," he smirked. "Now go make me some toast,"

"God, you're an arse," the blonde laughed, swapping him back and sliding off of the bed. She pulled at the hem of her skirt, suddenly feeling self-conscious as though Pete hadn't seen her in her school uniform a million and one times before. It was probably because Steve was there, she told herself. It had nothing to do with Pete pinning her to the bed with his shirt off. They'd been friends for seven years, so it wasn't as though it was weird to play fight. Half naked. On his bed.

"Oi, Harding," Pete chuckled, tossing a pillow at her. "Did you hear me?"

"What?" she blinked. "Oh, um, yeah sorry. Toast, coffee with two sugars,"

Pete frowned, noting the way her eyes were darting about the room and instantly felt bad. As worried as he was about getting the grades for university, he knew Allie had been torturing herself over it; it didn't help having two lawyers for parents. Not that Pete had ever seen them put any pressure on their kids. He remembered just a few nights ago Richard telling Allie that if she failed every single exam and spent her life selling cockles on the beach, he'd be proud of her and he had meant it. Unlike Pete's own father who despite showing no interest in his life whatsoever had informed him if he fucked up his exams to find a new home.

"Hey," Pete spoke softly, coming to a stop in front of her and reaching up to gently tuck her hair behind her ears. "Stop you're worrying, will ya? You'll be fine, I promise."

Allie let out a long breath, smiling when he brushed the pad of his thumb across her soft skin.

"And if I'm not?" she countered.

"Then you've got me," Pete answered her, as though it was the most simple thing in the world. She was his best friend; he didn't care what the future held for either of them or where it took them, if she needed him, he'd be there. "So you might want to keep me sweet," he teased, leaning his forehead against hers and nudging her towards the door.

"Alright, alright," she giggled. "I'll make your damn toast!"

"Pop in a slice for me, will you sweetheart?" Steve called after her as she disappeared into the hallway, laughing when a faint cry of "lazy bastards!" sounded out in return.

Glancing over at his brother as he yanked a grey hoodie from his wardrobe and pulled it on, Steve shook his head, walking over to him until there were mere inches between them and ignoring his brother's questioning look as he clicked his fingers and waved in front of his face.

"Fuck are you doing?" Pete frowned, swatting his hand away.

"Oh, so you're not blind," the older Dunham man smirked. "Guess we should get your head checked, then,"

"Are you off your tits already?" Pete exclaimed, reaching for his jeans and yanking them on. This is why he wanted to move into halls when he got his placement instead of commuting to campus every day, he wouldn't have to deal with Steve ripping him to pieces 24/7. Although what this one was about he had no idea; his boxers weren't on the floor, he'd definitely remembered to flush the toilet and he didn't owe him any money…

"What are you gonna do when she gets into uni?" Steve asked him, his tone taking on a touch of seriousness.

Where the hell did that come from?

"I dunno," Pete shrugged. "Allie's throwing a party at 'er house and we'll probably…"

"No, no, you daft prick," Steve frowned, rubbing his temples. "I mean what are you gonna do when she's off meeting blokes? Lord knows the girl ain't gonna be short of attention, Petey. Fuckin' look at her,"

"What's that supposed to mean?" Pete snapped harshly.

"It means, baby brother…" Steve inhaled slowly, a low whistle making its way past his lips as he fought with the demon inside him. Pete would figure it out eventually. "It means, don't leave 'er on her jack." He pointed at him. "Look after 'er. She's a good girl,"

"She's not just a good girl, mate," Pete met his eyes seriously. "She's my girl. I won't let anyone fuck 'er about."

Steve smiled, nodding sadly as he grabbed his watch off of the battered bedside table and wrapped it around his wrist. He knew that Pete was a man of his word, that he wouldn't let anything happen to Allie Harding. But what he feared his brother didn't realise was it wasn't a question of her being in danger, it was a question of someone falling in love with her before Pete realised that he was in love with her first.

* * *

"Call me when you know, yeah?" Steve nodded, watching as Pete pulled back the seat of his old Ford escort and help Allie out. "And for fuck sake call mum before she keels over,"

"Will do, mate," Pete laughed, wincing when Allie shrieked when she noticed Lara Knight, the only friendship she had that was older than Pete's was sat with the boys around the fountain in St Mark's Park, all of them looking on the verge of vomiting as they clutched their envelopes.

"Oi, Pete," Steve called to him just before he turned away. He met his brother's eyes that were so like their mothers, the polar opposite of their father, thank fuck. "You'll do blindin', mate. You don't need a bunch of letters to tell you what a top bloke you are."

Pete blinked, startled and for the first time in their lives, unable to instantly fire something back. Steve was his big brother and he loved him but they rarely saw eye to eye, especially in the last year or so when Steve had begun joining their dad down the Abbey nearly every night.

"Fuckin' hell," Pete snorted, his voice wavering as he tried to convince himself it was the morning cold making his eyes sting. "You gonna get out and kiss me n'all?"

"Piss off," Steve laughed, shaking his head. "Go on, go get it over with." He pushed the gear into first and winked. "Give my love to Bovver and the girls,"

"Mate, why the fuck are we here?" Bovver shouted to him as he made his way over. "I'm freezing my fuckin' Jacobs off,"

"We agreed," Pete explained, ruffling Lara's hair as he walked past her and squeezed onto the fountain wall next to Allie. "Its tradition,"

"We go on one all night bender and hide in this fountain to get away from the filth and suddenly coming 'ere is tradition?" Bovver huffed, folding his arms. "Bunch of bollocks,"

"Oh my God, here!" Allie gritted her teeth and whipped Lara's fur stole from around her neck before leaning over and placing it on Bovver coaxing a loud roar of laughter from the boys. "You look _gorgeous_ ,"

"Fuck off, Harding," he grunted, wishing he could supress the grin on his face. When Pete had first started inviting Allie to spend time with them, Bovver hadn't been happy about it. In fact it had taken him the longest to warm to her; much like Pete's father, he saw her friendship as pity. He felt constantly as though she were judging them, the pretty little princess of W1 hanging out with the ruffians for a giggle. But it didn't take a genius to work out there was more to the girl than that; she had a genuinely good heart and whether Bovver liked it or not, Pete adored her. God help him, she had grown on him too.

Reaching for his cigarettes as they group around him began chatting, he fought the urge to just walk off, certain there were better things he could be doing with his time. Unlike this lot, he wasn't bothered what was in that envelope. Christ, what was the point? He wanted a job, not a career. Something that paid enough to get him out from under his folks roof and match tickets every now and then. You didn't need to go through three years of bullshit for that. Ripping the paper open nonetheless, he peered in and quickly closed his eyes, hating himself.

"Bov!"

His head snapped up, distracted from the cool, rippling opal surface of the pond next to them as Dave called his name. Glancing at his friend, he saw the huge grin on his face and felt almost guilty for not returning it.

"Come on, mate, what did you get?" he pushed.

"I've got a fuckin' headache," Bovver muttered, stubbing out his cigarette violently and clambering to his feet. "7 at yours, yeah?" he jerked his chin towards Allie who was giggling hysterically, barely able to stand up with Swill on her back singing "We are the Champions" at the top of his voice.

"Yeah," she frowned, straightening her skirt and starting towards him when Swill finally moved away from her, attempting what looked like a lap dance on Lara. "What did you…"

"I'll see you lot then," Bovver dismissed her, turning on his heel and stalking through the early morning mist which so far was broken only but their group and the odd jogger. His hunched form disappeared into the thick and Allie blinked, noticing his envelope was still on the wall growing damp as the moss beneath it pushed through the paper. As it rapidly took on a transparency with the water, Allie spotted a garish, bold letter E and winced. She had known Bovver wasn't expecting to do well, he prided himself on rarely showing up to school but that had to hurt.

"Looks like you're stuck with me, bitch," Lara grinned, throwing an arm around her shoulders and planting a loud kiss on her cheek. "Me and you at UCL and the girls over there at Regents,"

"Sod off," Dave laughed, kicking her playfully. "Imagine all the skirt we're going to get,"

"Oh please," the red head narrowed her eyes at him. "We'll be with some of England's most eligible bachelors." She winked at Allie and lowered her voice. "You might finally find someone worthy of your V card,"

"Lara!" Allie laughed, outraged as she jabbed her friend hard enough in the ribs to make her shriek. "Jesus Christ!"

"I heard that," Swill piped up, waving his half eaten sausage roll in the air. "And frankly I'm insulted that I'm not worthy,"

Allie felt her cheeks burning, turning to Pete who was looking at her strangely, a smile on his face that she hadn't seen before. He looked way too pleased.

"So I'm assuming you'll be harassing me still now you're going to be a mere mile away?" she raised an eyebrow as she sauntered over to him, tapping his cheek with her envelope.

"Only when I'm bored," he nodded. "Or hungover. Or lonely. Or in need of decent food,"

"Well just be sure to call ahead," she leaned forward and lowered her voice to a whisper, her emerald eyes glittering teasingly. "In case you know, I have a man in my room. Or five,"

Pete forced himself to laugh but for whatever reason, it was difficult. Ok, so he didn't like the idea of some posh wanker with his paws all over her. She was better than that. Fuck, he hadn't even thought about that aspect of uni. Blokes would be all over her; it's not as though Pete noticed or anything but she was gorgeous. With that soft blonde hair that always smelled of cinnamon and coconut, her smooth long legs and perfect curves. Its not that Pete noticed any of those things were there but he knew other men did. Just not him.

He let his eyes flickered over to her, noting the way the sunlight bounced off of her eyes and turned them a different shade of green.

No, he didn't notice shit like that.

"Yeah well," he sniffed, getting to his feet and stuffing his hands into his pockets. Bovver wasn't wrong about the temperature, how the hell Allie and Lara were faring in their skirts he had no idea. "You can start planning your reign as the new Hugh Hefner; I've got to go find my mum before she loses 'er loaf,"

Allie laughed, knowing Moira had been as bad as her own mother this last week.

"That reminds me because I know she'll ask." Pete glanced down, cocking his head so he could see her letter. "A, A, B." he pursed his lips and nodded, his lips turning up into a full out grin. "That's my girl,"

"My mum slept with most of the faculty and my dad donated money," Allie told him with a shrug.

"Piss off," Pete laughed, pulling her into a hug and kissing her forehead. "Proud of you, kid."

"You too," she closed her eyes, happily letting the warmth from his body sink into her own for a moment. "I'll see you tonight,"

"Vodka shots with your name on 'em, Harding," he winked. "I ain't letting you bail on me again,"

"I did not fucking bail!" Allie pointed at him. "I resigned with dignity,"

"Tell that to the poor bloke whose shoes you chundered on," Swill frowned, his eyes wide as he recalled the incident. "I didn't know puke could come out at that angle,"

"Alright, alright," Pete laughed, walking backwards and keeping his eye on them a moment longer. "I'll pick up Bov on the way, make sure the miserable fuck shows up,"

"Laters, mate!" Swill shouted to him.

"Bye handsome," Lara winked, her head on Allie's shoulder as she brought the blonde's hand to her lips and blew him a kiss.

Rolling his eyes as the excitement rose in their voices, he stepped out onto the road and pulled his jacket tighter around him. He glanced up at the sky, not needing to look where he was going as truth be told he could do this journey with his eyes closed.

1478 steps was all it took to get from St Marks' Park to the Dunham household, 17 minutes on a bad day and on a day like today it only took him 12. Just like it took him 26 seconds to walk the length of the front garden and a mere 7 to open his front door. 12 minutes and 33 seconds to walk into his house and see his mother in the kitchen with her back to him, bracing herself on the counter as the kettle boiled noisily next to her.

"Aye, aye stranger," he grinned. "I was just about to come see you at work, you'll never guess what your amazing son has added to his list of talents this ti…-"

He stopped head, his body seizing as his mother turned to face him; her left eye was cut just below the socket, deep and flowing. The trappings of a bruise marred her cheek bone and she was pale as her hands shook.

"Pete," she raised a finger to her lips, shushing him and in that moment he was six years old again, hiding with her in the pantry whilst his father smashed his way through the house,her fingers clutching painfully at his arm, his own eyes squeezed shut as his father's footsteps grew closer.

Except this time, Pete wasn't six. He wasn't wrapped in her arms, he didn't have his hands over her ears and most of all, he wasn't afraid.

"Where is he?" Pete asked her, his voice frighteningly calm. "Mum, where is he?"

She shook her head, silently pleading with him; she reached out and Pete saw the finger marks on her forearm, thick and bruised. He closed his eyes momentarily before turning on his heel and marching back out of the kitchen, stopping only when he heard the familiar creek of the last stair.

"Come home for your gold star, have you, Petey?" Michael Dunham looked his son up and down, snorting when he noted his shoulders were squared, the slight flicker of fear in his eyes the only thing belying his steadiness. "Well then," he took a step forward, his arms dropping to his side and it was only then that Pete spotted the wrench he was holding. "Let's see what we've got for you."

* * *

 **Please review, it means the world. Also sorry for ending this chapter on a dark note. And sorry again because there's more of that to come. :/ Don't the hate me!**

 **El xx**


	4. Lullaby For A Soldier

**Thank you for all your incredible reviews so far, you've really no idea what they mean to me! The next chapter sees the introduction of the GSE but its not all doom and gloom. I'm actually really enjoying writing Pete and Allie as friends which is something I thought I would struggle with but don't worry, it won't stay that way forever ;) You know the routine by now: read, enjoy and review. Love El xx**

 **ps. If anyone has any recs for banner making sites, I'd be interested. I'd love to make something for my stories. Or if anyone fancies the challenge, let me know :)**

* * *

Lara Knight frowned, her pretty features creasing as she tipped the blender jug to the side and watched the dark liquid sludge around. Squinting at the recipe book once more, she huffed, placing the blender back onto the counter and resting her hands on her hips. Outside, she could see a mixture of her and Allie's school friends, their silhouettes bounding through dangling fairy lights and the constant blare of music. She had expected to spend the evening mourning the loss of college, but the more people she spoke to, the more she realised she and Allie couldn't get away fast enough.

"Lara, Lara, Lara," Harry Harding shook his head as he leaned against the door frame. "If you wanted to spend some time alone with me, all you had to do was ask,"

"You wish, crap sack," she shot back, gesturing to the mess on the kitchen island. "I'm trying to make margaritas,"

"Jesus," Harry exclaimed, leaning around her to peer into the blender. "You do realise human shit isn't an ingredient, don't you?"

"I think it might have been the avocado," she turned to him, tapping a perfectly painted fingernail against her teeth. "Maybe it was too ripe,"

"The what?" Harry laughed, his sandy hair falling into his eyes. "Jesus, woman let me look at this. Avocado, lime, chilli…" he dropped his head into his hands. "And you got into UCL?"

"What?" she shrieked. "I did everything it said…"

"..to make guacamole," the handsome Harding man finished for her. "Here, sod off. Unless people want their cocktails garnished with a taco, I think you should let me take over,"

Giggling loudly, Lara let him slide her out of his way, trying not to notice how toned his forearms were as he pushed the sleeves of his shirt up and went about rinsing the mush from the blender.

"OOOPS, I DID IT AGAIN! I PLAYED WITH YOUR HEART, GOT LOST IN THIS GA-…"

They both looked up at the unmistakable sound of Swill's voice booming through the crowd, their eyes wide as they watched Allie practically run into the kitchen and slam the door behind her. She squeezed herself into the gap between the door frame and the book shelf, her head falling back as she held up a finger, signalling for neither of them to speak.

A moment later a brunette tuft of hair appeared and Lara felt Harry start laughing beside her. This boy was all boat shoes and daddy's blazer, his lips pursed as he glanced about the large room.

"Did Alyssa just run through here?" he asked, his voice clipped and perfect Queen's English.

"Nope," Lara answered immediately, twirling a lime around in her hands.

"Who's _Alyssa_?" Harry asked at the same time, shrugging his shoulders.

The man didn't answer, instead shrugging and heading back out into the fray that was the foyer. As soon as the door shut, Lara gave her friend the thumbs up and she slid herself out again, dusting the cobwebs from her royal blue silk camisole which was tucked into her bejewelled shorts.

"Friend of yours?" Harry asked, not looking from where he was expertly chopping a lemon and popping it into the blender. "He seems nice,"

"Yeah, he's lovely," Allie snorted, coming to lean on the marble counter. "I think his charm peaked when he pointed at my chest and said _"I heard you got all A's but they definitely look like D's.'"_

Against his will, Harry laughed along with Lara who shook her head and tried to direct a sympathetic look at her friend.

"He gets points for trying," her brother shook his head, still giggling.

"Oh yeah," Allie waved her hand dismissively. "He's studying English Lit at Cambridge so you know, he's a born poet,"

"Aye, aye," Dave's voice boomed through the kitchen as he peered through the door. "Oi, lads, she's in 'ere,"

"Jesus," Allie laughed, running over and dragging him inside by the collar. "I'm hiding here,"

"Yeah, I saw that," he answered, his blue eyes serious. "He givin' you grief or do we need to fuck him up?"

He gestured to Ned and Swill who were stood behind him.

"No, you're fine, he's jus a -…what the _hell_ are you wearing?" Allie giggled, pressing her fingertips to her lips as her eyes landed on Swill.

"Don't fucking start," he told her, pulling at the lapel of his tux and rocking back on his heels. "You said you was 'aving a party. You're posh. So…" he gestured to the suit and Allie felt her heart melt.

"You look gorgeous," she told him, pulling him into a hug and laughing as he laid his head on her shoulder, closing his eyes.

"I look like a cunt," he muttered.

"Oh honey," Allie brushed his hair, tipping his head up and pouting back him. "Want me to cheer you up?"

Before he could answer, the blonde kicked the door open and leaned out into foyer, catching the arm of a tall olive skinned brunette.

"Zophia, this is my friend William," she stepped back and allowed them to shake hands. "He's off to war next month, this is actually his farewell party,"

"Oh my God, really?" the brunette gasped, clutching a hand to her ample chest.

"No," Allie deadpanned. "But he's cute and he's wearing a tux. Does it matter?"

"Well," Zophia grinned, looping her arm through Swill's. "When you put it that way…"

Allie giggled as she watched them disappear into the crowd, Swill craning his head back far enough to mouth "I FUCKING LOVE YOU" at the blonde before he vanished completely.

Dave smirked at her, looping his arm around her shoulders and giving her a squeeze.

"Any chance you've got more mates who look like that?" he laughed.

"Oh please, just go out and give it some cockney charm," she winked. "Us posh girls love it,"

"Speaking of cockney charm," Harry called, pouring some genuine margaritas into glasses and handing one to Lara. "Where's Pedro? I've got a bottle of JD with his name on it,"

"I thought he'd already be 'ere," Dave shrugged.

"He said he was getting Bov on the way, right?" Lara raised an eyebrow. "He's probably still trying to convince him to put on his prettiest dress and come out,"

"I couldn't find one that complimented my skin tone," Bovver nodded to them as he closed one of the large French doors at the back of the kitchen behind him and shrugged out of his coat. "Why the fuck is Swill dressed like a penguin?"

Allie frowned, a strange feeling making itself known in her stomach as everyone laughed and greeted the mop haired grump. There was no way Pete would miss this party or at least not without calling her. Biting her lip, she walked over to the small oak box mounted on the wall and yanked it open, grabbing her car keys.

"I might go see him," she called to the others, momentarily distracting them from their position crowded around the door desperately trying to get a look at Swill on the dancefloor. "See if he needs a lift,"

"Darlin' I'm sure he's fine," Dave told her. "He's probably on his way now."

"Well then I can save him the walk," she shrugged. "We need more limes anyway given Lara used them all to make fucking guacamole,"

"Piss off," the red head laughed, flipping her the finger. "And a fiver says I can still get Swill to drink it,"

"I'm in for that," Harry grinned.

"Oi, I'll take some of that action," Bovver chimed in, a rare smile on his rugged features. "I've seen that boy eat a kitchen sponge covered in Nutella before."

"I'll be back in 10," Allie giggled, rolling her eyes as she strode out into the garden, taking the path that led through the ivy and out onto the drive where her VW Beetle sat next to her mother's silver Porsche. She eyed it enviously for a moment before turning to her baby blue bug and patting the hood affectionately.

"Don't worry, I still love you more," she told it, hopping in and starting the engine. She meandered through the odd party goer who had decided to go exploring and sped out through the iron gates and onto the road. In the distance, Big Ben glowed through the twilight and she drummed her fingers on the wheel, trying to rid her stomach of butterflies. Something was wrong; she knew it. Coasting faster than she normally would, Allie found herself in Newham 20 minutes later, the Norah Jones CD her mother had left in the stereo calming her somewhat as she came to a stop outside Pete's house.

It was shrouded in darkness, only the dimmest bit of light coming from an upstairs window. Stepping out of her car, she closed the door as quietly as she could and made her way to the path, frowning when she noticed the gate was wide open. That was one of Moira's pet hates; she had lost count of the times Moira had shouted at Pete through the window to come back and close it when they were already half way down the road.

Spotting Pete's bedroom window at the side of the house as wide open, Allie pursed her lips before darting around to the side and reaching for the trellis which she had climbed a thousand times before. Not in high heels, granted but she was flexible.

The odd slip and curse word later, she was able to push herself up using the window frame, flinging one leg into the room first and then the other. She frowned, noticing the half packed duffel bag on the bed but there was no noise.

Peering into the dimly lit hallway, she saw what looked like glass on the floor and instantly her chest seized, a chill running painfully down her spine.

"Oh shit," she whispered, her entire body going still when she heard faint footsteps in the hallway. They were light, as though whoever was out there didn't want to be heard. "Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit,"

She spun around in a circle, trying to figure out where to hide as she knew that climbing back down at speed wouldn't be an option if she wanted the future use of her legs. With a 'what-the-fuck' shrug, she leapt forward, swinging her left leg out of the window and bracing herself, stopping only when she heard her name.

"Allie?"

Her head snapped around, peering into the almost darkness at the figure hunched by the door.

"Pete?" she whispered back. "Are you ok, what the hell is going on?"

He stayed at the distance he was, not wanting her to see his face…or what he imagined was left of it. After his father's outburst earlier, Pete had forced his mother out of the house, driving her to her sister's house across town and had snuck back just now to gather their things. It was a simple plan. He just hadn't factored in Allie bloody Harding.

"You need to get out," he hissed at her, hating himself as he saw her visibly recoil at his tone. "And I mean now,"

Her brow furrowed and he grinned inwardly, of course she wouldn't just take an order. No, that would be easy.

"Allie, please," he begged. His father had been gone by the time he had returned home but he didn't know when the old man was due back. If Steve came home first he might have a chance but given Pete had managed to sneak a few punches earlier, he knew his father was gunning for his blood.

And just like that, he heard it. His eyes slid shut for a long moment and he allowed himself to do nothing but feel the cold making its way through his body. The latch on the front door clicking open and the sound of heavy work boots hitting the floor.

"Petey," his father's voice carried gently up the stairs, the tone of it more terrifying than when he usually shouted or barked. "Not the brightest move you leaving the gate open, was it?" Pete could hear the grin in his voice and it turned his stomach. "You know your mum hates that,"

Pete snapped his eyes open, keeping his footsteps as light as he could as he made his way over to the tiny blonde and took her hand, leading her over to the closet and opening the door.

"Get in," he whispered, his voice urgent but firm. "And you don't come out until I tell you to, alright. Not him. Me. You listen to me,"

"Pete, what the fuck is this?" Allie clutched at his fingers tightly. "Do I need to call the police or…"

"No," he shook his head, grateful once again for the darkness in the room which kept her from seeing his face. "Just stay in 'ere and don't make a sound,"

He placed a brief kiss on her forehead, ignoring the way the tear in his lip stung as he did so. The scent of her hair filled his nostrils as he felt calm for a fleeting moment before closing the door after her and turning back to his bed, shovelling his clothes into it as quickly as he could. All he had to do was get his and his mother's things and leave. The hallway floorboards creaked menacingly behind him and he felt the adrenaline kick start in his veins as his father stepped into the room.

"Answer me when I talk to you." Michael ordered, his voice level.

Pete tensed, his eyes flicking over to the wardrobe as he pondered his next move. He didn't want Allie to see a repeat of what had happened here earlier so that meant playing it Daddy's way.

"I'll be out of your hair in 10 minutes," he mumbled, reaching for his wallet on his bedside table. His gaze lingered on the west ham sticker books lined up neatly and he felt tears sting his eyes as he pictured himself and his father sat on this very bed going through them, laughing and scraping with one another over who was the better player. How had that only been eleven years ago? Before something had changed in Michael Dunham and made him into the monster he was today.

"You reckon, do ya?" the older man kicked the bedroom door shut hard enough for the pictures on the wall to rattle and inside the closet, Allie tried to get her breathing under control. What the hell was happening here? "We're done when I say we're done,"

He flicked the light switch and Pete winced, dropping the bundle of clothes he was holding but not turning to face his father. He didn't want him to see the fear in his eyes and he definitely didn't want Allie to see the state of his face.

"Where's your mum?" Michael spat, his words slurring ever so slightly.

"She ain't 'ere, is she dad?" Pete snapped back. "I don't know where she is, I'm not her keeper,"

"Take that fucking tone with me and see where it gets you," he grabbed his sons shoulder and squeezed, revelling in the pained shout he gave. "Or do I need to remind you again to respect your elders?"

"Respect?" Pete laughed, shrugging him off and turning to face him. "What the fuck would you know about respect?"

Peering through the gap in the door, Allie clapped her hand over her mouth to keep herself quiet. Pete's usually handsome face was smeared with blood; his left eye was horribly bruised, a cut that ran through his eyebrow looking sore and angry as his face contorted with rage.

"You fucking lay a hand on mum again and I'll…"

"You'll what?" Michael laughed. "'ave a think about what you're saying, son. 'Ave a think about how many punches you just about managed to get in earlier and ask yourself if you really want to be making threats in this house,"

"It ain't a threat," Pete jerked his chin up defiantly. "And I ain't telling you where she is. So just get the fuck out of my way and you can go back to drinkin' yourself to death down the abbey. In fact here," Pete tossed a crumbled ten pound note at his father's feet and looked him up and down with disgust. "Next round is on me," he smirked, no longer caring about his own fate. As long as his mum was safe that was all that mattered. "Speed up that process and do us all a favour,"

Pete Dunham was a smart bloke; his own brother had said so just a few hours earlier. But now as he stood before his father, seeing his temple throbbing in anger, he knew that there as a chance he wasn't the boy genius everyone seemed to suspect he was. Michael grabbed him by the throat and threw him down onto the bed, raising his right fist and flexing his index finger. The one with the ring on, Pete realised, almost laughing. This man knew how to leave a mark.

" _STOP_!"

Both men froze and Pete glanced over at Allie as she burst out of the wardrobe, her tiny form trembling with what he suspected might be fear but the frosty look in her eyes told a different story.

"Get your hands off of him," she spoke through gritted teeth. "I mean it," she stuttered. "Leave him alone,"

"Well, well," Michael blinked, laughing as he stood up from the bed but kept his hand on Pete's chest to still him. "I didn't know we 'ad company,"

"Allie, get out," Pete barked, his voice strained as his father pushed down that little bit firmer on his chest.

"Let him go," the blonde spoke again, ignoring Pete entirely. "Or so help me God, I'll kill you myself,"

"Well fuck me!" Michael laughed, shaking Pete and jerking his head towards her. "Trained 'er well, aven't you, boy?" he turned his cold eyes back to Allie and grinned sickeningly. "I'd 'ave thought you were putting that mouth to better use though, Petey. You _have_ grown up nicely, 'aven't you darlin'?"

Pete felt his heart pound painfully against his ribs and without even realising he was moving, shot upright with a roar, elbowing his father backwards and pulling himself to his feet, purposefully placing himself between the old man and Allie.

"You do what you want to me," he pointed a bloodied finger at his old man. "But look at her like that again and I'll rip you apart limb by fuckin' limb, do you understand me?"

"Another sore spot, eh boy?" Michael licked a drop of blood from his lip and stared him down hard. "I should 'ave known you were soft in the 'ead. Your brother knows when to keep his mouth shut, but you…" he took step towards him. "Always shooting your mouth or and for what," he snorted at Allie. "Some piece of pink who isn't even putting out? I raised you better than that,"

"You didn't raise me," Pete shook his head. "And there ain't a day goes by when I don't fucking thank god for it. And seriously," he laughed, his jaw setting. "Talk about her like that again and you'll be dead before you hit the floor,"

Michael's eyes widened, turning an odd shade of blue as though they were clouding over, taking his sanity with them. He started forward, his fists trembling as he raised them before stopping dead and slumping to the floor.

Pete stared at him, his breath coming out in harsh pants as he fought to understand what had just happened. It was only when he felt Steve's hand on his shoulder that he looked up and saw his brother standing there with Terry in the door way, Steve still gripping the bottle he had used to knock his father to the ground.

"Pete," he gently slapped his face. "Mate, look at me,"

Pete lifted his eyes obediently and struggled to find his voice, a lump suddenly making itself known in his throat.

"He hit mum," he whispered brokenly.

"I know he did, mate," Steve gripped the back of his neck and pulled him into a fierce hug. "I know,"

"You alright, darlin'?" Terry asked quietly, reaching his hand out to Allie and pulling her over to where they stood next to Michael's body. "I've got ya,"

"He won't be out for long," Steve looked down at his old man in disgust. "You need to get shot of 'ere before he wakes up."

"I ain't fuckin' leaving you here with that piece of shit," Pete snapped. "No way in hell,"

"I can hold my own, mate," the older Dunham man nodded, lowering his head to his brother's ear so only he could hear him. "Get her out of here, this ain't fair on her, mate. She's shaking like a leaf,"

Pete glanced over and saw Allie was staring at him, her mouth open and her eyes shimmering with tears as she glanced down at Michael and then back up. He could see the tremors running through her fingers and felt sick. No, she didn't deserve to see this.

"You can stay with me," she told him, her voice soft. "Both of you,"

Steve smiled at the girl he had come to think of as a baby sister for so long and walked over to her, cupping the side of her face and shaking his head.

"You're a diamond," he told her. "But I'll be alright. Just take care of him, will you?"

She nodded, not trusting her voice to hold out much longer. She felt as though the next time she spoke, she would burst into tears or at the very least scream bloody murder.

"Get your stuff," Steve nodded towards the bag on the bed. "I'll call you when it's safe to come back,"

Pete nodded and Allie felt her stomach clench. How the hell would it ever be safe to come back? Why would they after…

Then it hit her.

This had happened before.

The thought made her blood run cold and her teeth chatter, so she remained silent, following Pete out into the hallway and trying not to notice how he was hobbling, doing his best to keep upright. She didn't offer to hold his hand, knowing it would kill him. He was a man of pride and the fact that she had seen all this, seen what it was really like to live in this house…it had destroyed him.

Allie followed him patiently, even as he winced and grabbed the stair rail for balance, wishing more than anything that she could hold his hand to help him. But then truth be told, she didn't know who was going to sink to the floor first. Pete…or her.

* * *

Pete sat silently as Allie switched off the headlights of her car, letting her long delicate fingers slide off of the wheel to land on her lap. Neither of them had spoken since they left his house and Pete was certain he had nodded off more than once on the journey to her house. He peered out into the mist from the depths of which a steady music beat sounded and laughter intertwined with the chilly night air. Suddenly there was a bump on the front of the car and his head snapped around, squinting through the glass to where a brunette in a very short dress was perched on the hood of the car, a man stood between her legs by the looks of it trying to eat her face.

"Hey!" Allie shouted, slamming her palm against the horn on her wheel and sending the two lovers scrambling. She caught sight of the familiar face and rolled her eyes, not expecting anything less.

She heard Pete chuckle before they fell into a silence once again, steeped in tension. What the hell was she supposed to say to him?

"Why the fuck was Swill wearing a tux?" he asked, raising an eyebrow as best he could as it was caked it dried blood.

Allie shook her head, not cracking so much as a smile as she turned in her seat and stared at him.

"Its happened before, hasn't it?" she asked him softly.

"What, Swill in a tux?" he snorted. "I fucking doubt it…last time he-…"

"Pete," she bit her lip. "Don't."

That one word in that tone was all it took. There was no point in even attempting to fool her, she knew him better than anyone. She had always seen through the bravado; he loved and hated her for it. It meant he could never keep secrets from her. Even when he could fool the boys, he couldn't fool her.

"I'm sorry," he told her, staring down at his hands and swallowing hard. "For putting you in that situation, you shouldn't 'ave had to see that."

Allie gawked at him, her mouth falling open as she fought for words.

"You're _apologising_ to me?" she whispered. "Pete, your dad just…"

"I know, alright?" he snapped, not wanting to talk about this.

"You don't owe me an apology," she told him earnestly. "Jesus, Pete what you just went through, no one and I mean no one should ever have to experience. Not from their fucking parent,"

"Yeah well," he pressed his tongue into the side of his cheek and snorted. "Everyone gets a bad hand every now and then, don't they?"

Allie wanted to fight him on this, to shake him and make him realise that this wasn't his doing, that his father was a piece of shit and there was no excuse for him, no reason for any of this to happen.

"You can't go back there," she told him, her voice firm.

"Right," he laughed. "So what do I do? Move out, live with my auntie in her one bedroom flat in Ealing? Live here? What, Allie?"

"You know you could stay here for as long as you wanted," she told him, meaning it. "For as long as you needed, forever if you needed."

"I don't belong here," Pete barked. "I'm not a fixer-upper, Harding. Alright, my life is a fucking mess and I know it but that's what it is. I ain't ever gonna come home from school to a mansion and 'ave my old man give me a hug. Not everyone lives like this,"

Allie bit the inside of her cheek to keep from shouting at him; she knew this wasn't him talking, this was the remnants of his father coming out. All that rage, all that fear. He had to direct it somewhere.

"I know I'm lucky, ok," she countered calmly. "Don't think for a second I take any of this for granted but this isn't about me, it's about you. You're worth more than that bastard is ever going to let you be. He'll bring you down, Pete. Fuck, if I hadn't been there tonight, he could have killed you."

"Yeah, well maybe that wouldn't 'ave been such a bad thing. Like I've got fuck all to live for anyway. I'm gonna end up like him no matter what I do. Some useless council estate piece of shit worth nothing to no one," he told her, meeting her eyes dead on and watching hers widen, the horror in them palpable. He felt horrendous for saying it, he knew he had everything to live for. His mum was amazing, when his brother wasn't being an utter prick, he had his good points; the boys were his family too and not to mention he'd been accepted to this first choice uni.

And then there was the girl staring at him now with such despair, as though he had pulled the stars from the sky and put them out before her.

"Look, can we just go inside?" he rubbed the back of his neck tiredly. "I'll be out of your hair by the morning,"

He shoved the car door open and pulled himself to his feet, wincing as his ribs and his back protested. Fuck, he was damaged. The more time passed the worse his injuries seemed to get. Lowering his head and yanking the hood of his sweatshirt up, he stumbled across the driveway, not letting himself look back to see Allie sitting in the car desperately trying not to cry. That would be the end of him if he saw that.

He ran quickly through the fray inside, making his way down the photo lined grand hallway to Allie's room at the end. He pushed through the door and stepped inside, the same warmth he always felt in here welcoming him and calming him. It was like she was there even when she wasn't. He would never tell her but last year when she and her family had gone on holiday for two weeks, he had been so lost without her that he had snuck into her room a few times and just lay on her bed, pretending she was there with him. Photos and trinkets were scattered everywhere, along the large French dresser by the balcony windows, the warm peach tone of the walls offset by her grey silk bedsheets and the giant fish he had won her at the funfair years back still taking pride of place on her bed.

He smirked and hobbled into her en suite, turning on the shower and shedding his clothes. His arms ached and he glanced down, noting he had a near perfect footprint bruise on his rib cage. If violence was an art form then his father was truly a master.

By the time he exited the shower, he heard Allie pottering about in her room and took a deep breath. He'd been an arsehole to her in the car, he knew that and now he had to face her. He had to see the guilt and the pity in her eyes.

He was leaning against the sink when the door burst open and she stood there in her ivy green flannel shorts and her grey Spongebob t-shirt. Her eyes flashed bright as she looked at him, clearly pissed off. Fighting the urge to smirk, he felt a weight lift from his body. Pissed off Allie he could deal with.

"If you're done taking a dramatically long shower and using all my hot water," she tapped her foot impatiently. "I need the first aid kit so I can clean you up. You might be a guest but like fuck does that give you the right to bleed all over my room."

Knowing exactly what she was doing, Pete laughed softly, taking a step back from the counter so she could reach down and pull the first aid kit from the shelf.

"Yes m'am," he gave her a small salute.

"And here," she held a pair of tracksuit bottoms and a white t-shirt out to him. "They're Harry's so you can bet your arse they're not clean."

"Cheers," he told her, for some reason feeling all the fight leave his body when their fingers brushed.

"It's what I'm here for," Allie nodded, turning on her heel and leaving him to get dressed. She almost made it to the door when he grabbed her hand, pulling her to him and burying his face in her neck. Instantly Allie wrapped her arms around him, her own eyes stinging when she felt him shaking. Just about able to see over his shoulder, she spotted the marks from what looked like a wrench on his back and closed her eyes, hating herself as tears spilled down her face. Pete sobbed against her and she felt his legs give way, falling to the floor with him and holding him tighter, her hand rubbing the back of his neck as she shushed him gently, rocking him as best she could.

It didn't matter that there was a party downstairs, voices and music carrying up through the rafters; it didn't matter that he was wearing a towel, that his blood still stained the shower wall or that he was clinging to her like a desperate man.

All that mattered was that she was there, letting him.

And that was enough.


	5. Polaris

**No, you've not inadvertently taken LSD and begun hallucinating...this is indeed an update. Major apologies for the delay, I thought it would be a super smart idea to do a second degree so have started University (again) this week and the build up has been manic! On the upside, University is where I wrote What Could Have Been and was in my element with my OCD posting so here's to no more month long gaps between chapters!**

 **This is where you start to see the changes in CHARACTER with his universe, someone crops up at the end who is certainly not the person they were when mentioned in previous stories. I'm currently six chapters ahead writing this so updates will be more frequent, I promise. Thank you to all those of you who reviewed and took the time to send PM's, I know I've got broken record syndrome but seriously, its MIND BLOWING how many people have read and continue to read my stories so thank you so much. Read, enjoy and if you fancy, leave a review, they make my day :) El xx**

* * *

 _ **Called mum, she knows you're safe. Will come get you tomorrow. Enjoy letting Harding play nurse for you. Silver linings and all that bollocks.**_

Pete snorted as he read Steve's text before flipping his phone shut and placing it on Allie's huge glass and marble dresser, his battered wallet and keys complete with West Ham keyring looking utterly ridiculous amongst the bottles of expensive looking potions and powders. Strewn about where photos of Allie and various members of her family, some of her and Lara and of course of her and Pete. His eyes settled on one from a few summer's back when they had braved the Barking Lido and Allie had worn a bikini in front of him and the boys for the first time. He chuckled to himself as he looked at the photo closer, noting that not one of the boys was looking at her or daring to stand anywhere near her. Pete included. He tapped his fingers against the back of the chair slotted into the vanity itself and listened out for her return. She had snuck downstairs to get them something to eat and drink; after they had finally pulled themselves up from the bathroom floor, he had bashfully informed her he was going to get changed, giving her the chance to leave so he wouldn't have to see the sympathy in her eyes. But typical Harding, all she did was kiss him on the forehead and inform him she was going in search of food. How she managed to strike the balance of being there for him without making him feel like a complete child, he would never know.

Doing his best not to look at his bruised and battered body in the mirror, he ran a finger along the top of the vanity and absentmindedly pulling one of them open, his eyes bulging as he stared down at the various scraps of lace.

 _Jesus Christ on a fucking bike._

Since when did Allie wear stuff like _this_? This was the girl who had left the room wearing flannel boxers and a SpongeBob t-shirt.

His mind was assaulted with various images of Allie in nothing but lace and something tightened deep in his stomach, forcing him to slam the drawer shut harder than he had intended and catching his finger.

"Fuck!" he shouted.

"Jesus, are you ok?" Allie raised her eyebrows, quickly closing her bedroom door behind her and locking it to keep prying eyes at bay.

"Yeah," Pete mumbled, focusing on wiggling his fingers rather than looking at her. And imagining her stood against the door in nothing but lace. And maybe those black high heels she was wearing earlier. Fuck, what was wrong with him? Was this what concussion did to you these days?

"Cramp," he shrugged, knowing it was a bullshit excuse but it was the best he could do. "Christ, did you get enough?"

He laughed as she stumbled over to her bed and dropped the armful of food she was carrying, tins of Pringles, chocolates and popcorn along with a 6 pack of beer and some Cokes landing gracefully on the cashmere throw and making his mouth water.

"You eat like a horse," Allie raised an eyebrow at him, reaching for a packet of Haribo, plucking all the cola bottles from the pack and handing them to Pete who merely rolled his eyes. "God knows how long we'll be stuck up here," she flopped down onto the bed and crossed her legs. "Something tells me this is an all nighter,"

Pete frowned, guilt surging through him as he watched her open one of the coke bottles and take a long sip. This was their pre-University, post exam celebration of freedom and she had to spend it patching the better half of his torso back together and being verbally assaulted by his shit heap of a father.

"Why don't you go back down?" he folded his arms. "I'm gonna get some kip and-…"

"Piss off, Dunham," Allie laughed, clambering up onto her knees and hobbling over to him. "As per every other moment of your life since 1995, you're stuck with me whether you like it or not."

Pete chuckled, shaking his head as she placed her hands on his shoulders to balance herself and for whatever reason, it made his skin tingle. His eyes flickered down to the t-shirt and shorts she was wearing and he briefly wondered if anything resembling the underwear he had seen in her drawer was underneath it.

"So we 'ave beer…" he raised an eyebrow, gesturing to the bottles on the bed and forcing his mind from the gutter.

"We also have marshmallows and chocolate," Allie pursed her lips.

"Well then, Harding," Pete grinned, ignoring the sting in his cheek as he did so, the cut on his eyebrow stretching ever so slightly. "What'd you say we take this north?"

* * *

It was eight minutes and one close call when Pete's foot had slipped out of his trainer later that they found themselves laying side by side on the roof of Allie's house; they had discovered they could climb up here seven years ago when there had been a meteor shower and Allie who was going through her astrology phase at that time had insisted they watch it from the highest point possible. Which meant 30 feet up on the flat patch of roof which housed Allie's bathroom. However on this particular night, it wasn't Polaris they were gazing at or the outline of the Milky Way.

"He isn't…"

"Oh he is…"

"No, surely to _God_ not there…"

"Oi, he asked her first, he's being a gentleman about it…"

"How can she be ok with this? Is she seriously going to let him…"

"Wait for it…"

"OH MY GOD!"

Allie clapped her hand over her eyes and fell back onto the roof, Pete's laughter taunting her as she pulled her hooded sweater up over her mouth and let out a muffled scream.

"I told you not to look," Pete shook his head.

"In my garden," the blonde sat up again and clasped her hands to her chest. "The garden where I spent my childhood is now robbed of any innocence…"

"Wanna know the worst part?" Pete cocked his head as he squinted into the darkness. "I'm pretty sure that was Swill,"

He laughed at the dark look Allie gave him, her finger shaking as she pointed it at him.

"You take that back,"

"Sorry, blondie," Pete winked, opening another bottle of beer and handing it to her. "Another precious memory tainted by Simon Wilkins,"

"Remember when I was a kid and my dad used to make us have jars for everything?" she asked him, drawing a heart-warming and genuine laugh from him.

"Remember 'em?" Pete snorted, stretching his long legs out in front of him and nudging her feet with his own. " _ **I** _ had to fucking have one,"

"A swear jar ironically," she rolled her eyes. "Pretty sure within six months you'd paid for our summer holiday to Mexico the next year. Point is," she gestured down to the garden. "I vote we get one for that bastard,"

"A Swill jar?" Pete smirked. "He ain't got that much money, darlin',"

"Well he can clean my garden then," she shuddered. "Actually screw cleaning, I want that corner of the grass burned and its ashes scattered in Nepal,"

Pete chuckled and fell back into the nest of pillows they had brought out with them, pulling on her hand so she did the same. They lay there as they had done so many nights before, sipping their beers quietly and staring up at the sky only this time there was a tension there. He knew she had questions, questions that he didn't want to answer but he would if she asked him. He had never been able to deny her anything, least of all his honesty. It was what made them as strong as they were together.

"I can hear 'em, you know?" Pete's voice broke Allie from her reverie as she stared up at the star scattered sky.

"Huh?"

"The cogs," he pointed to his temple and rotated his finger against it. "Around and around they go,"

He was teasing her, she could hear it in his voice but truth be told, she did have things she wanted to know. She was certain she wouldn't like the answer to any of the questions she had but dammit, she still needed to know.

Opening and closing her mouth a few times, Allie gulped hard and forced her eyes away from Pete's, not particularly able to take the intensity in them at that moment.

"I don't want you to tell me anything," she whispered. "Not if you don't want to. That's not…this isn't some tit for tat scenario; I'm not going to force anything out of you. Just know if you did want to talk about it then…" she shrugged. "That's ok,"

Pete gazed at her, for some reason wanting nothing more than to reach out and run his knuckles down the side of her perfect face. She had said those words to him all those years ago when they had first met and he was sporting a split lip. Nothing changed with this girl; she was there for him then and she'd be there for him whenever he needed her.

"I was nine," Pete let out a long breath, keeping his eyes focused on the night sky above them. "First time he smacked me about."

Allie tensed beside him, he could feel her body go rigid, her breath coming out in shallow pants as she fought to keep herself together. Below them, the hum of the party still mingled with the night air, music and laughter spilling out into the expansive garden and forming a cloud around them.

"Bad day at work, he said," Pete snorted humourlessly as he recalled his father's muttered excuse the next morning at the breakfast table. "He walked in and mum 'ad made sausage and mash, asks him what he wants to drink and without saying anything, he picks up the plate and smashes it on the floor. He gets in her face then, asking her if she's fucking stupid, how many times does he have to tell her he don't like mash,"

Allie swallowed hard and laced her fingers together on top of her stomach; she had known Michael Dunham over a decade and whilst he had never been the warmest person, she had never assumed he was capable of this.

"She starts stuttering, apologising even though she did nothing wrong," Pete spat out, the fury surfacing in his words as his fists clenched at his sides. "Steve gives me this look as if to say 'keep your mouth shut', but I can't. Dad's got her hair wrapped round his fist as this point, his shoving her head into the fridge and screaming at her with all the food in there, she has to make mash like we're on the fucking bread line. Starts accusing her of stealing his money, spending it on herself,"

"So I stood up, before I even knew I'd done it and just shout at 'im "leave 'er alone'. That's it, three tiny words and the whole world caves in."

Pete swallowed, hating the way his voice had begun to waver, his hands shaking as he bit down on his lip hard.

"He asks me when my balls dropped, when I became the hero and then he slams her face into the side of the fridge and drops her like she's nothin'. Then he walks towards me and crouches down in front of me, tells me if I want to get involved in things that don't concern me they I'd better be prepared to take the consequences…and then he punches me in the stomach. Gets me down on the ground and grabs Steve's plate of food and shoves my face in it. He doesn't give a fuck that I can't breathe or that I'm bleeding, he just screams at me if I love mummy's cooking so much then why don't I eat it."

Allie shook her head and closed her eyes tightly, hating herself as tears began to stream down the side of her face and onto her neck, their trails cooling her skin in the autumn chill. How the hell had this been going on all these years and she had never noticed it?

"He kicks me in the back and then walks out of the kitchen, turns on the TV and sits down as though nothing has happened. He even shouts out to Steve that footie is on," Pete laughed darkly. "And mum just stands there crying, pulls me up and cleans me down, all the time telling me she's so sorry. That it's her fault,"

"Pete,"

That one word in that tone of voice was enough to make his stomach ache; he glanced up at her and saw her crying, trying to hard to keep it together as she sat up and reached for his hand, holding it tightly in her own.

"Why doesn't she…"

"Leave?" Pete finished for her, shaking his head lightly. "I've asked her so many times, but…she loves him. I don't understand what there is to love, the bloke is a cunt. He's an alcoholic, woman beating piece of shit and if Steve hadn't come home tonight…"

He shook his head and looked at her, sitting up and cupping her chin in his hand.

"I _never_ would have let him touch you," he told her, his voice hoarse with emotion. "If he'd laid a hand on you…"

"I know," she frowned, wondering why he was so concerned about her when he was the one who was hurting. "It's ok,"

"It's not fuckin' okay, Allie," he shook his head. "If he touches my mum again, I'll kill 'im."

The simplicity which with he spoke sent a chill down Allie's spine; it wasn't as though she blamed him but she knew deep down that if Michael raised his hand to Moira Dunham again, either Pete or Steve would murder him.

"Then don't let it come to that," she begged him. "Get your mum, stay here and…"

"Harding," Pete smiled sadly, shaking his head. "This ain't a Dickens novel, alright? I ain't the orphan the rich girl can take in,"

"Oh as if you've fucking read Dickens," Allie shot back at him, rousing a genuine laugh out of him this time.

"Come 'ere," he pulled her to him, resting his chin on top of her head and closing his eyes as her hands swept up and down his back. "I'll be alright, you know me,"

"Yeah," she snorted, her voice coming out muffled against his chest. "That's the problem."

Pushing herself away from him gently, Allie looked up into his azure eyes and tried to keep her own open as his fingers swept up her arms and under her hair to cradle her head. God, his hands felt good. Shaking the sensation away, she ignored the loud crash followed by a resounding "wheeeeeey" from downstairs and forced his gaze back to her.

"So what happens in the morning?" she pressed him. "I drop you back home and what? Wait for a phone call saying you're either in hospital or in prison for murder?"

"Not quite, Harding," Pete grinned at her. "And besides…who said anything about going home?"

* * *

Pat Dunham limped down the short footpath to his front door, making a note of all the weeds that seemed to have grown overnight and cursing under his breath. Fishing his keys from the pocket of his overalls with a filthy hand, he practically threw himself into the house, sighing with relief when the smell of bacon hit him.

"Aye, here's trouble,"

He smirked, bending down to take off his work boots as his wife poked her head around the kitchen door and wolf whistled at him.

"I do like a man in uniform," Nancy Dunham winked, ignored the hand gesture he threw in her direction as he straightened up and made his way towards her.

"I didn't marry you for your sense of humour," he told her, pulling her into a hug. "I married you for your cooking and your body,"

"Arse," she laughed, elbowing him playfully. "Go on, bugger off, you'll get my clothes covered in muck,"

Releasing her and brushing a streak of mud off of the back of her nurses' uniform before she could spot it and box his ear, he slumped down into one of the kitchen chairs and reached for the enormous mug of tea she had placed in front of him.

"Your brother rang last night,"

At that, he almost spat out his tea, turning to look at his wife as she gave him a knowing look and went about buttering the toast for his bacon sandwich.

"Well fuck me," Pat rubbed the back of his neck. "Moira finally chuck him out?"

Whilst Pat loved his brother, there was no denying Michael Dunham was no way near good enough for a woman like Moira; he had a short temper and an even shorter attention span which meant he usually hopped from job to job. Not ideal when he had two young mouths to feed.

"Or did he get fired again?"

"He didn't say," Nancy shrugged, placing the huge sandwich down in front of him and licking some brown sauce from her finger as she took a seat next to him. "He was slurring though,"

"Oh well there's a fuckin' surprise," Pat mumbled through his mouthful of food. "If he wants me to get him a job on the site, he's got another thing coming. I'm onto a good thing with this new contract, I ain't having him fuck it up by showing up pissed out of his tree,"

"Maybe he just called for a chat," Nancy shrugged, rolling her eyes when her husband laughed loudly.

"Yeah, it's been a while since we had one of our boys' days out," Pat looked at her seriously and then stretched his hands out, examining his dirt covered fingernails. "His timing is bang on, I really need to get these manicured,"

"Alright," Nancy held up her hands up with a laugh. "I'm done, I'm going to work."

"I'm going to finish this and get some kip," he replied with a yawn, sending her a wink as she blew him a kiss and stepped out of the back door, taking the alley way down towards the tube station as she always did.

The kitchen descended into a quiet calm, the radio humming in the background as he wracked his brain for reasons his brother would have phoned him. Michael never phoned. He showed up unannounced with beer on his breath, he sometimes even passed out in the front garden when he was too pissed to knock but he never, ever phoned. Not all that willing to give it much more thought, Pat yawned again and stood, dropping his plate into the sink and starting down the hallway towards the stairs, his body crying out for rest after his 10 hour night shift. His foot had barely found the first step when the doorbell sounded and he swore in that moment, a small part of him died.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me," he rubbed his forehead. "I found Jesus, we've got a funeral plan and our windows are already double glazed," he shouted over his shoulder.

Low and behold, the shrill ring of the bell sounded again and he growled, turning on his heel and yanking the door open, his jaw falling when he came face to face with the intruders on the other side.

Pete looked up at his uncle, gently removing the sunglasses Allie had loaned him from his face and wincing at his reaction. Smirking, he thought back to the moment in Allie's bedroom when she had offered to put make up on the bruises and he had given her quite the colourful reaction. But now as Pat Dunham stared at him with utter anguish in his eyes, he found himself wishing he'd swallowed his pride and asked her to cake him in the stuff. Next to him, the girl in question squeezed his hand a little harder, letting him know she was there for him.

"Alright, Pat?" he attempted to send him a boyish grin but failed miserably and hated himself when he felt the all too familiar sting of tears in his eyes. "Don't suppose you-…"

He wasn't able to finish his sentence, instead found the wind knocked out of him as the older man yanked him forward and pulled him into a tight hug, knowing without even having to ask exactly who was responsible for this. Trying his best to control his temper as his nephew's tears dripped down onto his shoulder, Pat pulled him inside and reached for the young blonde behind him, ushering them both in and out of the cold and –unbeknownst to any of them- out of the sight of Michael Dunham.

* * *

 **This version of Pat was originally and I mean ORIGINALLY circa 2006 how I wrote him to be so I feel as though I'm finally doing him justice. :D Please be kind enough to leave a review if you have the time, as always my PM box is open, suggestions, questions and anything else are always welcome. :) x**


	6. Born of Monsters

**Its short and sweet. The next one is longer so brace yourselves :)**

* * *

Pat cursed under his breath yet another attempt to extract the coffee from the jar failed, his shaking hands causing the spoon to tip and deposit the grains all over the counter and floor. Bracing himself against the countertop, he pulled in a deep breath knowing he had to get it together before Pete came into the kitchen. There was no point at all in him losing his temper, it was the last thing the poor lad needed after today was him going off on one. A faint click sounded down the hallway and Pat turned, his teeth grinding painfully as he watched his nephew wince and limp down the small corridor, coming to a stop in the kitchen doorway and attempting a smile.

"Allie's out for the count," Pete jerked his head in the direction of the living room, his tone hushed despite the door being closed. "She didn't get much sleep last night,"

Pat smirked at him and raised a knowing eyebrow.

"Behave," the younger man chuckled, pulling out one of the chairs around the small table and collapsing down into it, hissing as his bruised back rested uncomfortably against the wooden spokes.

"She's a good girl, that one," Pat nodded, filling the cups with boiling water and stirring them slowly, trying to collect his thoughts. "Always has been,"

"She 'as her moments," Pete grinned and shook his head but there was a light that flashed in his azure eyes that Pat didn't see very often which made him think otherwise. "I owe her for this though," he gestured down to himself. "She went after the old man like a Rottweiler and then patched me up."

"Now _that_ I would have paid to see," Pat laughed, sliding into the seat next to him and placing the two steaming mugs down. "You sure I can't make you a sandwich or somethin'," he glanced warily at the cooker. "I 'aven't used that thing since the 80's but how hard can it be, eh?"

"Christ," Pete snorted. "You're offering to cook for me? I really must look like shit,"

"Worse than that, son," his uncle gestured to the bruise around his eye which was turning bluer by the second. "Shit tends to only be one colour; you've got a fuckin' technicolour jawbone,"

There was no humour in the old man's voice, his eyes hardening as he took in the split lip, the pronounced bump on his temple, the graze on his collar bone.

"What the fuck happened, Pete?"

There it was. The question he had successfully avoided for the last half hour since they had stumbled into the house and rambled off as many pleasantries as they could to distract themselves from the situation at hand. Selfishly, as they sat on the sofa flicking through the abomination that was daytime TV, Pete had been tempted to nudge Allie awake as she began to fall asleep on his shoulder. He knew that once she was unconscious it would only leave him and Pat and a barrage of questions that he didn't want to answer and Pat probably didn't want to ask.

Knowing there was little point in lying to his Uncle, the man he had secretly pretended was his father when he was younger, wishing more than anything that he was the one who would come to his football matches and dish out the odd piece of advice on girls. Rather he than the fucking mess that was Michael Dunham.

"He hit mum," Pete spoke quietly, hating the way his hands shook as he did so. "I came home and she was just stood in the kitchen…her face was…" his breath became laboured and harsh. "I went to find him,"

Pat watched as the young man looked up at him, his eyes focused and clear despite the tremors wracking his body.

"I was going to kill 'im, Pat," he gritted his teeth. "I really was,"

"I know, son," Pet nodded, his eyes sombre as he placed a hand on his arm silently urging him to continue.

"I get to the stairs and there he is, waiting for me," Pete smirked humourlessly. "He went with a wrench this time; it's been a while since we've had that one. Usually it's just hit fists, sometimes the belt. But he went for it. He had me down on the bathroom floor, he didn't say a word just kept on and on," Pete bit his lip, hating himself as tears stung his eyes. "I thought he was gonna kill me at one point. He had his foot on my chest and he was just smashing this wrench into my ribs over and over. And then he just stopped." He shrugged, his eyes shining as they focused maniacally on the salt and pepper shakers in front of him. "Stands over me, washes his hands in the sink and walks out."

Pat tipped his head back and tried to keep his breathing slow, determined not to let his nephew see the madness and fury in his eyes; Lord knows he'd seen enough for one day. Michael had always been short tempered, he had always known that, even when they were children. Though he wasn't proud of it, the news of him hitting his wife and sons didn't come as a surprise. He had seen more than enough bruises on Moira to know something was going on but he knew that challenging his brother would only make it worse for her.

When Pete and Steve came along, he vowed he would keep an eye on them, make sure they were safe and looked after as young lads should be. But looking at Pete now, his face cut and bruised, his head hung low in defeat, Pat Dunham knew he had failed them.

"I told mum to get out," Pete continued. "Packed her a bag and drove her to Auntie Anne's. I was back at the house getting my shit together when Allie showed up," he shook his head. "'er timing is fucking terrible,"

"Or bang on," Pat countered with a smirk. "Depending on how you look at it,"

Pete returned his grin for a short moment before a darkness clouded over his eyes and his knuckles whitened as his tightened his grip on his coffee cup.

"The way he looked at her," Pete swallowed hard, tasting bile as he recalled the sickening look in his father's eyes as he leered at her. "The things he said….Steve came in at the right time. Because if he hadn't, I would 'ave put him in the ground there and then, Pat. If he had taken even one fucking step towards Allie, I would 'ave cut his throat,"

Pat straightened in his chair, his unease stemming from the sincerity in Pete's voice. Unlike Steve who had always been a loose cannon, Pete could reign the madness in. Right at this moment however it was flowing out of him in waves; it was like having a nuclear bomb sat at your kitchen table and realising you'd lost the switch for it.

"Leave 'im to me," Pat spoke quietly, his voice hard.

"This ain't something you sit down and 'ave it out with him over a pint about, Pat," he shook his head. "I can't let…"

"I know, Pete." Pat looked at him, clasping him by the shoulder and squeezing it reassuringly. "I know. Trust me, I'll sort this. He won't be stupid enough to do this again, you mark my words."

Wanting more answers but knowing his body was slowly giving out on him, Pete simply clasped his hand and nodded, trusting him as much as he trusted Allie or Steve or his mother. Pat had always had his back and he knew there was no way he would let this slide, that's why despite Allie's questioning look, he had asked her to drive him here this morning.

Pat glanced about the kitchen, wondering how the hell his plans for a cheeky nap after an all nighter on the building site had not only gone to shit but been blown to smithereens by his little brother without him even being present. How had the kid who used to badger him relentlessly about joining in playground football games and sneaking chips off of his plate when he wasn't looking turned into such a monster?

His eyes landed on the envelope he had stuck to the fridge and he grinned, a real grin this time as he clapped Pete on the back and yanked himself upright, reaching for it and turning to his nephew who was staring at him as though he had lost his marbles.

"With regards to you, my son, I 'ave _just_ the medicine," his eyes danced as he pulled three West Ham tickets from the envelope and slapped them against his hand. "Dirty Spurs, at home, next Sunday and you're coming with me."

Pete laughed, already hearing his mother's voice protesting in his head; for whatever reason, he and Steve were rarely allowed to go to football matches with their father or uncle. Moira had little to say about it other than 'they're a bunch of bloody animals pissing their lives away'. What the poor woman didn't realise was that when you were 18, the offer of that was the equivalent of Wonka's Golden Ticket.

"Fuckin' hell! At home?" Pete stood up, reaching for the tickets and whistling when he saw they were in the lower stands, right near the pitch. "Christ, how'd you get these?"

"Friend of a friend," Pat answered him with a wink. "All the lads from the site are coming down, all the old boys from the Abbey. Even your brother,"

"Steve never mentioned this," Pete frowned, ignoring the sting from the tear in his eyebrow as he did so.

"He wouldn't," Pat explained, purposefully ignoring the questioning look the blonde shot his way. "Let's just say, son that I think its about time you came to a real match,"

"I've been to the footie before," Pete laughed. "You gettin' old enough that the memory is already on its way out?" he tapped his Uncle's forehead playfully, laughing when it was slapped away.

"Not like this, you 'aven't," Pat looped an arm around his shoulders and smiled. "Trust me son, by the time you walk out of those gates, your old man will be the last thing on your mind."

* * *

Allie Harding was far from spoiled; with the exception of her car, her parents made a point of not buying her or her brother's very much. Certainly nothing luxurious or 'just because'. The one thing she had insisted on, her inner brat coming to light, was silk sheets on her bed. Silk sheets with Egyptian cotton and feather pillows. That was all she wanted and it was her haven, her world of peace. Granted it was currently stale and speckled with flecks of Dunham blood but it was hers.

It was a far cry from the rough, dusty material scratching away at her cheek as she woke up slowly and groggily, the gentle hum of the TV in the background along with the brown Staffordshire terrier staring at her reminding her she was indeed still on Pat Dunham's sofa.

"Hi, Sandy," she mumbled sleepily, blindly reaching out her hand and smiling when the pup instantly made her way over and nuzzled it. Sandy and Danny had been Nancy and Pat's dogs for the past nine years with Sandy now rolling solo after Danny had to be put down last year. A good chunk of her and Pete's time during their school holidays as children had been spent walking the two around various parks, with Allie usually ending up on her arse because one of them had spotted a pigeon and gone for it…taking her with them.

"Oh Jesus," she giggled, turning away when the dog began to lick her face, snorting excitedly as though finally realising who she was.

"That figures, don't it?"

Pete's voice caused her to jump slightly, lifting her head off of the sofa and squinting down at him where he sat, her feet pulled into his lap.

"The first time I actually see some real life girl-on-girl action and it's you getting Frenched by a staffie,"

Allie giggled, still fighting off the dog one handed as she pulled herself into a sitting position, the faux fur throw Pete had covered her with pooling around her waist. Whatever had happened when she had been asleep, he looked better than before. Granted, he was still battered and bruised but the weight on his shoulders didn't seem quite so heavy. She knew chances were that Pat was to thank for that; he had always been so good to them when they were kids and she knew Pete had a soft spot for him, hence why they had ended up here this morning.

"Sorry to disappoint," she raised an eyebrow.

"Don't give it another thought," he shook his head, sending her that damn smirk. "When I tell the boys this story, she'll be human, you'll both be in your underwear and it definitely counts,"

"You're a troubled young man," she told him, scooting closer and gently pushing his hair back so she could examine the cut that stretched from his forehead into his hairline. She had used butterfly stitches to pull the skin back together but part of her was still worried it required the real thing.

Pete closed his eyes at her touch and felt his chest tighten when he opened them a second later to find her eyes on his, her delicate fingers softly slipping down his face. Some insane part of him wanted to kiss the tips of them as they passed gently over his lips but he forced himself to stay perfectly still; he had no idea what was happening to him. It had to be the concussion; there was no other reason he could possibly be thinking about kissing Allie Harding.

The same Allie Harding he had known since he was twelve years old.

The same Allie Harding who was staring down at him now, examining the cuts on his face and completely oblivious to the fact that all Pete could think about was how she would respond if he just pulled her down onto his lap and kissed her.

"I'm sorry I passed out on you," she smiled, her gentle voice bringing him out of a daydream which was getting progressively certificate 18. "Is Pat still here or...?"

Pete knew what she was asking; did he fly into a fit of rage and run off to murder Michael Dunham? Not that she would have blamed him or even found fault, in all honesty. If anything she would have offered to help.

"He's in the kitchen making what I think is his sixth cup of coffee," Pete told her, frowning at how husky his voice sounded. "Poor bastard had been at work all night, this was the last thing he needed,"

"Something tells me he won't mind," Allie flopped down next to him and nudged his shoulder with hers. This was better; she couldn't deal with being that close to him face to face right now. The moment his eyes had found hers, she felt something tighten in her chest and for whatever reason her brain had decided not to focus on the poor guy's war wounds but on the muscles in his arms and how it might feel to bury her hands in his hair and pull his mouth up to hers. Christ, she was spending too much time around Lara; apparently being horny was contagious these days.

"I should get you home," Pete told her, resting his cheek on top of her head. "Your brother is probably out of his tree by now wondering where the hell you've gone,"

"He's probably still in his bed with god knows who…or _what,"_ she grinned as Pete laughed loudly, his chest vibrating under her cheek. "Not to mention its not even midday so he's probably still drinking tequila," she snorted, craning her head back to look at her best friend. "You have _met_ Harry, haven't you?"

"Swill's probably dead," he grinned as she giggled. "Your posh mate probably bit his head off when she was done with him,"

"Again, I don't think he'd have an issue with that," Allie countered. "I think we all accepted a long time ago that Swill was always going to die with his pants around his ankles,"

"Christ, there's an image I didn't need," Pete groaned, drawing another giggle from the blonde as they proceeded to speculate what had happened at the party last night, neither of them particularly having missed it despite the circumstances they found themselves in.

Outside in the small hallway, Pat smiled to himself as he watched the two lounging on his sofa, the laughter coming from Pete making his chest lighten just that little bit. As she always, Allie Harding had a way of bringing Pete out of the darkest of moods.

"You sure about this?"

The voice on the end of the phone took on a nervous edge and pulled his attention away from the scene before him, causing him to turn and head back into the kitchen and sanctuary of silence.

"You're not, I take it?" he snorted.

"He's a good kid," the voice continued. "I don't know if this is what's best for him, especially with what's just fuckin' gone down."

"Michael ain't involved in this," Pat shook his head. "He has no say anymore, not after this. He's out,"

Resting against the kitchen counter, he felt the tiredness sweep through his body and made a silent promise that once this phone call was done with, he was going to sleep and not even world war III would wake him.

"Son, this goes two ways and you know that," Pat spoke, his voice low and calm. "Men either embrace the madness or they let it ruin them. Pete ain't the latter,"

"That's what you think?"

"That's what I think." he affirmed.

"Well then, _Major_." Steve Dunham grinned down the phone. "Let's show our boy what he's been missing."

* * *

 **And with that, the GSE finally comes into it. Not in the way you thought either, I hope! Reviews are my choice of drug so you know what to do :) Thank you guys for reading, as always it means the world. El xx**


	7. Bloodlines

**A huge thank you for those of you who review religiously, you're one of my five reasons for being the other four being Charlie Hunnam, gin based cocktails, anything with caramel on it and my car. So...you know, let that make you feel good :D**

 **To those of you giving me PM abuse about the fact 'WE'RE 7 CHAPTERS IN AND THEY HAVEN'T EVEN KISSED YET ARE YOU SHITTING ME YOU EVIL WHORE...'**

 **I feel your pain, I do. But its important for their friendship to come across before they cross that line. And they do. Believe me. Just not quite yet.**

 **We're entering the GSE zone with a heavy dose of flirting so you have been warned. Lip action is imminent.**

 **Though I love that you guys are so passionate about these characters being together that I can actually get you to hate me. You're going to hate me a lot more in the future, you have my word on it. But for now...**

* * *

Steve Dunham's 23 years on earth had certainly contained better days than this one. As he woke to the sound of bin men cursing and hurling metal at one another, the gears on the truck churning with no regard for those still in the land of nod, he felt only one thing: pain.

Rising to his feet, he reached out to steady himself on the arm of the sofa that had served as his bed and stumbled down the short hallway to the bathroom, yanking a tad too hard on the dangling light switch and causing it to ping back, bouncing off of the wall like a rogue bullet.

"Fuck me," he muttered, catching his reflection and rubbing his hand along his jaw bone which was thick and tinged with purple.

"How much do you remember?"

He cast his eyes past his own face to that of Terry as he leaned against the door frame, still clutching a can of beer and drawing a snort from Steve.

"I remember being in a shitty mood," he cocked his head, recalling how dark his world had become in the split second he walked through his own front door and saw his father towering over his brother, the blonde girl stood frozen with fear in the corner of the room. "Then there was a few beers, about four hours of black, more beers and then some Yid wankers on the way home,"

"I'm all for a ruck but fuck me," Terry hissed as a muscle in his back protested painfully at the simple motion of turning his head. "Give us some notice next time, son,"

"You're gettin' old," Steve smirked, slapping his friend's stomach as he sauntered back into the living room. "I keep tellin' you to lay of them pork pies,"

"Oh fuck off, Dunham," Terry flipped him the finger before slamming the bathroom door shut, the sound of the shower a moment later drowning out Steve's booming laughter.

Shaking his head, he yanked the fridge open and reached for a bottle of water, his mouth suddenly dryer than the Sahara; truth be told, he knew last night was a cheap shot. The lads they had encountered were far from being front line with the Tottenham firm but it was either take his anger out on them or let it fester and risk going home in the early hours of the morning and finishing his father off with whatever sharp object he could find.

Perching on one of the old kitchen stools in Terry's flat, Steve breathed deeply and pondered where to go from here. He knew his mum was at their Auntie's and that Pete was safe with Allie but both those situations were only temporary. Like it or not, they would have to go back at some point and that meant facing Michael Dunham. Steve knew that had he not arrived when he did last night, he'd either be burying his brother or his father in the coming days and judging from the way Pete's eyes had turned almost black as he snarled at their father, Steve had his money on the latter.

Deciding he needed a full English with extra hash browns before he even contemplated his next move, he closed his eyes and brought the cold water bottle to his forehead, feeling a calm seep through his body for the first time in 24 hours.

That was of course until his phone rang. Growling, he flipped it open without looking at the caller ID and barked into the receiver.

"Unless this is the bird from Buffy and its National Blow Job Day, I ain't interested,"

"Don't put visuals like that in a man's head when he's only 'ad four hours sleep, Stevie," Pat grimaced audibly down the line. "And even if it was, what the _fuck_ would she be callin' you for?"

"Get out of it, you tart," Steve laughed. "What the fuck are you doin' up in the land of the living before 10am?"

"Well picture my surprise, Stevie," Pat's voice took on an edge the younger Dunham wasn't sure he liked. "When I get home, eyes on the prize of a cheeky nap and get interrupted by your baby brother knockin' on my door lookin' like he went fifteen rounds with Ali down a glass chute and out through the arse of a camel,"

"Poetic," Steve cocked his head and pursed his lips.

"Where is he?" Pat demanded and Steve knew exactly who he was talking about.

"I dunno, Pat," he sighed. "I glassed him right over the head and left him in the house, so either he's dead or I'm about to be,"

"I ain't letting this go on," Pat told him firmly. "I'm straightenin' this out once and for all,"

"Are you sure…"

"Leave Michael to me," came the reply, his uncle's voice darker than he had ever known it. "And as for Petey…"

Steve held his breath, waiting for the reprimand he was sure would follow. On the other side of the phone, he heard a door shut and Pat lowered his voice to a whisper.

"Did he lose his eyesight before or after Michael floored him because that Harding girl…"

Steve laughed, relief flooding through him as he shook his head and leaned on the kitchen counter, wondering if he should start a tally chart for the people who were left dumbfounded as to why Pete and Allie hadn't figured themselves out yet.

"Don't get me started, Pat," he snorted. "Believe me, I've been fucking waiting on him to get his shit together for going on a decade,"

"Christ alive," Pat groaned. "The fact I share a bloodline with that fuckin' idiot is worrying. But we'll tackle one thing at a time with Petey." There was a pause. "I'm bringing him to Sunday's meet,"

At that, Steve went cold; the Firm was a Dunham tradition, started by Pat and Michael in the mid 80's. At first it had been Pat, Michael, Terry's father Jimmy and a few of the old boys from the building sites but it had grown, becoming an all-consuming monster in East London and so the GSE was born out of fire, recession and a Thatcher generation with a taste for blood. Steve had earned his stripes much younger than any of the other lads, going to a match with his father when he was sixteen and finding himself caught between the GSE and the Red's on the way home. Every fibre of his being had told him to turn and run, to listen to what his father was shouting at him and head for the nearest tube, get the fuck out of there.

But the second one of the Red's had shouted at him, pointed at him, singled him out as though he was an easy bet, a fire spread through him and before he knew what he was doing, he had picked up a bottle and hurled it with all his might, the rage coursing through his veins flourishing as he saw it hit the older man and draw blood. It was something he was meant for, he knew that but Pete…

Pete was different; he was smart for one thing. Even when he wasn't trying, his grades never dipped below the odd B. He had a good heart, he trusted people more than Steve ever had, gave them the benefit of the doubt no matter who they were or where they came from. Unlike Steve's vision of the world, everyone was innocent until proven guilty in the eyes of Pete Dunham.

"You sure about this?" he croaked out.

"You're not, I take it?" Pat countered, his tone not angry but curious.

"He's a good kid," Steve shook his head. "I don't know if this is what's best for him, especially with what's just fuckin' gone down,"

"Michael ain't involved in this," Pat replied, his voice firm. "He has no say anymore, not after this." He paused. "He's out."

Steve closed his eyes, knowing damn well what he just heard was the official declaration of World War III.

"Look," Pat continued, as though reading his mind. "This goes two ways and you know that. Men either embrace the madness or they let it ruin them. Pete ain't the latter,"

Steve nodded to himself, knowing deep down that was the truth; Pete had a licence on his rage unlike most of the other Dunham men. The only two things that could break him entirely of control was anyone posing a threat to either their mother or Allie.

"That's what you think?" Steve asked him again.

"That's what I think."

He breathed, picturing his brother stood beside him at every meet. Their bond was deep as it was but this…this was different. This was a brotherhood they chose.

"Well then, Major," Steve smirked. "Let's show our boy what he's been missing."

"Good lad," Pat told him, the grin evident in his voice as he hung up the call.

Placing the phone down on the counter, Steve tapped his foot manically against the metal footrest of the stool and laced his hands together behind his head. The last time two Dunham brothers had helmed the GSE, it had lost momentum after a few years, its reputation getting lost in the sea of other Firms, its notoriety dimmed somewhat. But Steve knew he and Pete could change that. A new era. Without their father. As he had always dreamed.

* * *

"You sure you're alright getting home?"

Allie glanced up from where she was tying the laces on her white converse, trying her best to avoid the Staffordshire terrier who was still hell-bent on licking her to death. Glancing up at Pete, she fought the urge to roll her eyes, knowing that being overprotective was just part of the Dunham package. She had learned that the hard way when he used to force her to wear his coat every time they went anywhere after school to cover what her pathetic excuse of uniform didn't.

"I'm pretty sure I can handle it," she told him, standing up and blowing a wisp of honey coloured hair from her eyes, still sparkling despite the shadows underneath them. "It's the same journey I've made roughly five times a week for the last seven years," she cocked her head thoughtfully. "Not mentioning that a good 65% of those journeys have been made blind drunk on the underground, so if I can get home still clutching my ramen noodles at 4am, today should be a walk in the park,"

Pete laughed lightly, knowing deep down she was right but that didn't shake the guilt he felt at sending her out on her own after everything she had done for him in the last 24 hours. But as she had pointed out, if he drove back with her just to watch her walk through her front door then it meant him having to drag his still black and bruised form across London under the scrutiny of daylight.

"Alright but you call me the second you get there," he told her sternly, crossing his arms and trying not to return the grin she shot at him as she leaned down and engulfed Sandy the incessant staffie in a huge hug and nuzzled her neck. "Allie," he pushed.

"Yes, ok!" she laughed. "Jesus, I might call Nancy and ask her to bring back some Valium," the blonde released the dog and stood, resting her hands against Pete's chest and tried not to think about how firm it felt beneath her fingers. "Stop worrying about me and focus on yourself,"

"I'm fine," he snorted, wishing more than anything that he could have forced a touch more certainty into his voice. "Dose of aspirin and a kip and I'll be sweet as,"

"You off, darling?" Pat called as he strolled down the hallway clutching yet another cup of coffee, thankfully interrupting what Pete knew was going to be one of Allie's _'You're-So-Full-of-Bullshit'_ speeches.

"I am," she smiled, all peachy lips and glittering eyes. How the hell his nephew hadn't clocked onto this girl yet, Pat would never understand. "Thanks for letting me drool on your sofa and hog the remote,"

"Anytime, sweetheart," Pat told her earnestly. "Nancy will be gutted when I tell her she missed ya,"

He stepped forward and pulled the slip of a girl into his arms, subtly bringing his lips to her ear.

"Thank you don't cover it," he whispered, squeezing her arms affectionately. "You're a diamond, I won't forget this,"

Allie felt tears sting her eyes as she pulled back and saw the sincerity in the old man's eyes; she knew Pat saw Pete as a son, probably more than Pete saw Michael as a father. Their bond had always been so palpable, hence why this was the only place she was willing to leave him and walk away knowing he was in safe hands.

Pete's gaze shifted between them, a frown marring his handsome features as he tried to work out what it is he might have missed. Before he could ask any questions, Pat gently patted Allie's cheek and sauntered back down the hall, whistling yet another Beatle's track as he did so.

"'Hey Jude' was McCartney, it doesn't count," Allie called to him referring to their childhood joke about whether the Rolling Stones were better than the Beatles. Allie had gone with the Stones whilst Pat, ever the patriot had fought her to the death over a Sunday roast as to why the Beatles won hands down. Giggling when he swore loudly without turning around, instead throwing a hand gesture in her direction. "And he has the stones to call himself a Beatle's fan," she snorted, feigning disgust as she slung her purse over her shoulder and walked to the front door. Pete followed her, the heat emanating from his body making her feel jittery just as it had when they sat side by side on the sofa, his bare arm occasionally brushing hers and sending shocks right through her.

"I um," Pete shoved his hands into his pockets as she came to a stop and turned with her back to the door, the black paint framing her and making everything about her stand out even more. Her eyes seemed to grow greener, her skin glowed, her lips…oh _fuck_ , she was biting her bottom lip, reaching her long fingers up to tuck some hair behind her ear. When did all these tiny little things she had probably done for years suddenly seem to scream 'come hither'?

Yanking his hands from his pockets again, he scrubbed his face with his hands and before he even knew what he was doing, placed his hands palms flat against the surface of the door behind her.

What in fuck's name was he doing?

"What do you do the second you get back?" he asked her, trying to keep his eyes on hers and not allow himself so much as a lightning fast glance at her lips.

"I call you," she told him. Was it just him or had her breathing changed? "Pete, nothing is going to happen to me on a 20 minute drive from Barking to Kensington,"

"I know," he rolled his eyes and looked down at the floor for a long moment. "I just..."

Allie fought to keep herself still; this was new. Sure, she and Pete had play fought and been close up like this before but this time…what was he doing to her? Couldn't he see the blush creeping up her neck or the sharp rise and fall of her chest?

"Thank you," he told her, the tone of his voice softer, less demanding. She lifted her eyes back to his and felt as though her ribs were suddenly too small for her body, like she was bursting out from inside. "For what you did last night; I don't think I tell you enough how much…"

He stopped when Allie pressed her thumb against his lips, using the leverage of his arms either side of her to pull herself up and brush her lips over his cheekbone. How was it that splashing his face with water had felt like getting punched all over again but her lips against the bruise felt like rose petals, barely there at all. She pulled back and stared at him, a soft smile on her lips.

"You don't need to," Allie told him, meaning it. She didn't need him to thank her. Jesus, she was his best friend, this is what she did. This is nothing short of what he would do for her. Her stomach sank as she realised that actually had the situations been reversed and Allie had been the one attacked, Pete Dunham would without a doubt be under arrest for murder right now.

"I'll call you later," she let her hand slip down his face and let out her first real full breath as he pulled back from her. Having him that close wasn't good for her health, she was sure. "Get some sleep," she smirked. "And let me know if you change your mind about the makeup,"

"Piss off," Pete laughed, shoving her playfully down the path.

"I'm serious," Allie walked backwards, the sun bouncing off of her hair and making her glow. "I've still got some blue eyeshadow, it would really bring out your eyes,"

Giggling when he merely shook his hand and raised his middle finger, she frowned when suddenly Pat appeared at the door next to him, squeezing through and making his way towards her, his pace faster than it would be usually, a grim smile on his face.

"Pete, do us a favour and feed the mutt, will ya?" he nodded to Sandy who was whining at the door, her teeth bared as she stared across the road at nothing in particular.

"What's wrong with 'er?" Pete frowned; Sandy was the most stoic dog in the world yet here she was about ready to tear into the brick wall she was stalking behind.

"Fuck if I know, she's a woman, changes her mood every four seconds," Pat called back and then sent an apologetic look at Allie as he opened her car door for her. "Present company excluded," he told her with a wink.

"Nice save," she laughed, fastening her seat belt. "Is everything ok?"

"Yeah," Pat nodded. "All's well that ends well and all that bollocks. Just realised I'd left my manners at the barn I was born in and had forgotten to see you out properly,"

"Ok," Allie narrowed her eyes, not quite buying it but knowing with the Dunham men, sometimes it was better to remain in ignorant bliss. "Look after him for me,"

"I will, sweetheart," Pat told her, shooting her a genuine smile. "Now go home and get some rest; he'll be 'ere the rest of the week, I ain't letting him out of my sight so pop round whenever you like,"

Allie nodded and peered out of her window, laughing as Pete fought with the dog, using all his strength to pull her in by her collar. She finally relented and they both disappeared into the house, leaving the door open as Allie's beetle peeled away from the curb and set off down the road.

"Oi, Pat!" Pete's voice boomed from the house. "Help me out with this thing, would ya? She's loosin' 'er fuckin' marbles over something,"

"She ain't wrong, son," Pat muttered, levelling Michael Dunham with a hard stare as he sat in a car across the road. It wasn't his and Pat didn't need to ask to know he'd stolen it in a drunken stupor. What disturbed him more was how long had he been parked there and what was he planning on doing? He had spotted him from the bathroom window and raced down, knowing Allie was about to make her way outside on her own. His concern wasn't so much for her safety but what would have happened if Michael did something stupid and Pete was there; he had sworn last night that if his father had done anything to Allie, he would have killed him and Pat believed him completely.

Whether it was Pat or Steve…or Pete, Michael Dunham was a wanted man. And the trouble with wanted men was that they knew they had nothing left to lose...and that's what made them dangerous.

* * *

 **Hope you enjoyed the giggles and they awww will they/won't they flirting because the next two chapters...all I can do is apologise in advance. #AngstFest2015**


	8. Sunday's Child

**Huge, great big thanks to those of you who left such kind words on the last chapter, it made my week. I had to take some time off of work and uni because I had an operation on my knee on Friday, hence the delay in getting this up but please enjoy :) Ready for more flirting and a big ass twist at the end? You know you are…**

* * *

"So explain to me again how it is you landed your grubby mitts on tickets to a match that sold out two weeks ago?"

Pete smirked from where he leaned against the door frame of his makeshift bedroom at Pat's house, his toothbrush dangling from the corner of his mouth as he watched Bovver scowling down at the pile of job applications in his lap.

"Told you," he shrugged. "Pat knows a bloke,"

"Well unless its Alan Pardew, I'm calling bullshit," the dark haired man shot back.

"Call it all you want, mate," Pete laughed, chucking his toothbrush onto the dresser next to him and ruffling Bovver's already unruly hair as he passed him. "Point is in a few hours' time, I'll be in the stands holding a piss warm beer and cheering on the might Hammers,"

"Don't forget to send us a post card, will ya?" Bovver sniped bitterly, throwing the pen he was holding to the ground and shaking his head. When you had zero qualifications beyond a C grade GCSE in woodwork, what hope did you have of landing a job that paid more than £2.00 an hour in London?

"Oh don't be such a little bitch," Swill piped up as he tumbled into the room with Dave right behind him, his arms full of bags of crisps and cans of beer. "We're still meeting you lot for a few cheeky beers after, yeah?"

"At the Abbey," Pete nodded, scrubbing his short blonde hair with a towel before pulling on a black sweatshirt. "Stevie's getting the drinks in," he shouted loud enough for his brother to hear him downstairs, a moment of silence following before a shout of "Fuck off, you twat" carried back up to him.

Chucking, he flopped down onto the mattress and stared up at the ceiling, noting the glow in the dark stars painted onto it and feeling his stomach sink. Pat and Nancy had turned their attic into a bedroom for the child they would never have; he remembered being around nine when they had painted it, not understanding until he was older why it was Nancy had all but nailed the door shut one day, tears in her eyes as she locked and walked away from it, never intending to return. Moira had explained to him later that after four miscarriages, Nancy found out she was unable to carry a child full term. And so she and Pat had turned their affections to the Dunham boys, spoiling them with money they didn't have to give away to begin with, sneaking Pete and Steve to the cinema when they knew Moira didn't have the money and now…literally unlocking something they had hidden away for the pain it caused them, just to give them a home.

"'ere, did you hear Fábregas is talking to Pardew about coming on side?" Dave interrupted his morbid train of thought and he snorted, sitting upright and staring at the back of his head.

"Fuck off," Pete reached for his trainers, half stuffed under the bed and shoved his feet into them. "As if that tart would take the cut he's on to come over to us,"

"Gospel of Paul, mate," Dave cast a lightning fast glance at him as he stared at the TV screen where Swill was currently doing his best not to get shot in Golden Eye. And failing.

"Speaking of tarts," Pete raised his eyebrows in Swill's direction. "What ever happened with you and that posh bird from Allie's party?"

"You what?" Swill frowned, throwing his controller at Dave and then smirking. "Oh yeah….well you know,"

"Don't go all fuckin' coy on me, son," Pete laughed. "Me and Allie saw exactly what you got up to,"

"A gentleman never tells," Swill answered in his snootiest voice, taking a long sip of his beer and making a point to hold out his pinkie finger for emphasis.

"A gentleman sure as shit doesn't do what you did to that poor bird," Pete snorted, drawing laughter from Dave and even Bovver as Swill turned a rare shade of red. "Oh yeah, mate, we saw it all. Scarred me for life,"

"And what exactly were you two pervs doing eyeing me up with my snake out?" he fired back, narrowing his eyes. "Sexual tension between you ain't bad enough, you 'ave to watch me getting on it?"

"You what?" Pete raised an eyebrow at him as though he was insane. "Mate, me and Harding are a lot of things but we ain't that."

Swill simply smirked at him, Dave paused his game and turned around to stare at him, even Bovver ceased shuffling through the papers on his lap and raised an eyebrow in the blonde's direction.

"What?" Pete burst out.

"Oh, Petey," Swill shook his head, genuine disappointment etched onto his more rounded features.

"Oi, leave 'im alone," Dave nudged his friend, a devilish glint in his eye. "Poor bastard is in denial, you know that,"

"You lot are out of your fuckin' tree," Pete pointed at them, getting very busy looking for his wallet, hoping that if he moved around enough they wouldn't see the blush creeping up his neck. Could they read his mind or something? Ever since last weekend when he had spent the night in her bed, she was all he could think about. Which wasn't entirely unusual, as his best friend she was never far from his mind but now he wasn't just thinking about jokes he had to remember to tell her or films he had to force her to watch. He was thinking about how soft her skin was, how fucking good her lips felt when they brushed his cheek and of course, the menagerie of soft porn underwear she apparently wore on a daily basis.

"Right, so you're tellin' me you've never thought about her naked?" Swill grinned, turning on his bean bag and wiggling his eyebrows at Pete.

"No!" the blonde answered far too quickly. Not that often. Definitely not last night or in the shower this morning. He glanced around at his friends, ignoring the sweat pooling in his palms. "What…'ave you?"

"Fuck yes!" Swill shouted.

"I'm a gentleman, but I ain't a fuckin' eunuch," Dave shook his head.

Pete stared at them wide eyed and then turned to look at Bovver who was surprisingly once again very preoccupied with looking through papers.

"Not you n'all?" Pete begged.

"She's a pain in the arse but she ain't bad to look at," Bovver grimaced as though admitting it somehow meant she would know. "Any of you tell 'er I said that and I'll shred your fuckin' Jacobs off, you hear me?"

" _Fuck sake_!" Pete shouted, shaking his head in disbelief.

"Oh come on," Swill laughed as he watched his friend pace in small strides and seemingly grow more nervous by the second. "You're tellin' me it's _never_ crossed your mind? You're tellin' me you'd be alright with some bloke all over 'er?"

"Who? What bloke?" Pete barked, coming to a sudden stop and glaring at the lads. Granted, Allie was a big girl and he could already guess some of the colourful words she would rely on if she knew they were having this conversation but if she was getting involved with some bloke then that was unacceptable. It was bad enough when she had dated that bellend William a few months back. Subconsciously glancing down at his left hand, his eyes located the small scar on his index finger which he had gained after slamming his fist into a goal post on the sports field. An action with had nothing to do with the fact he could see Allie and Horsey McPosh across the way with his hand on her arse. Nothing at all to do with that.

"No one, mate," Dave rolled his eyes so only Swill could see. "Calm your tits; she's still single. For now at least…"

"She ain't like that," Pete protested more to himself than them. "She's…"

"What?" Bovver snorted, chiming in again now his omission about not finding her entirely repulsive had died down. "You reckon when she goes to uni she's going to wrap a chain around her knackers and keep a picture of you by 'er bed? Fuck me, Dunham. Come on mate, you're meant to be the smart one of the group,"

"Who the hell told you that?"

All four pairs of eyes darted over to the window where Allie was clinging to the ledge, her hair falling out of the messy bun it was pulled into and into her eyes as she pulled herself upright.

"Fuckin' hell!" Pete cried, running over to her along with the others and pulling her through. From his height, the loose fitting white shirt she was wearing tucked into her black skinny jeans allowed his eyes full view of the pale green lace bra she was wearing and he gulped, letting go of her the second she found her feet in the room. She dusted the front of her jeans off and straightened up, stuffing her hands into the pockets of her dark blue floral blazer and finding her car keys which she chucked onto the bed.

"So come on then," she grinned, perching on the bed next to the pile of papers and craning her neck to see what was on them. "Who told you he's the smart one? Because you were lied to,"

Pete smirked, rolling his eyes but not daring to get any closer to her. She was wearing some kind of perfume that was fogging his brain…and would it fucking kill her to do up ONE more button on that shirt?

"Oh that much we've figured out," Dave winked at her, trying to disguise his laughter as a cough when he caught the dark look Pete sent his way.

"Oh Jesus, what'd you do?" Allie met her best friend's eyes and grinned. He looked so much better than he had last time she had seen him; they had spoken on the phone every night but she had purposefully kept her distance, knowing he needed some time with Pat.

 _Yeah, keep telling yourself that, sweetcheeks_ ; her brain taunted her. _It has nothing to do with the fact you don't **TRUST** yourself around him at the moment. Because every time it's just you and him, you start noticing his hands and imagine them buried in your hair, you start looking at his mouth and wondering what it would feel like on yours, down your neck, maybe those hands could slip down and start unbuttoning your shirt while he…_

"Petey here has never watched _Back to the Future_ , can you believe that?" Swill piped up, pulling her mind from the gutter.

"What?" she raised an eyebrow, hating how husky her voice had suddenly become. "You must have!"

"Nope," Dave answered before Pete could, slinging his arm around Allie's shoulders and meeting the taller man's gaze. "Nuts, isn't it? I mean everyone around him has seen it. We all know its amazing...plus it's been in his face for years and he's never thought to pick it up and check it out,"

Pete growled inwardly, knowing exactly what these bastards were doing; spelling it out to him in front of her. Absolute arseholes.

"Who say's I'll like it?" he shot back, wanting this conversation over with.

"Its very, very nice to look at," Swill told him with a nod.

"Funny, too," Dave winked. "Smart…makes you think, you know it's better that most movies out there but it doesn't know it. I think you're missing a trick if you don't at least consider it,"

Pete clenched his fists, not sure whether to jump out of the window or through Allie though it. Whatever the outcome, he couldn't be in the same room with her right now. Not with thoughts about her naked running through his fucking head.

"You ready, mate?" Steve sniffed, walking into the room and smiling warmly at Allie though briefly wondering how she had gotten into the house. Catching the open window and cobweb on the front of her jeans, he laughed.

"You are aware Pat has a fully functional front door," he told her.

"Old habits," she rolled her eyes, alluding to all the nights she would clamber through their bedroom window in her pyjamas, torch in hand and go on midnight adventures with Pete. They might have stalled for a few weeks when Allie's parents found her bed empty at 4am and called the police but they still managed to sneak out.

"We off, yeah?" Pete stepped into Steve's eye line and nodded manically.

"Christ," his brother frowned and then jerked his chin over to the boys. "You lot let 'im out to do his business on the grass or what? His dandie's are in a right twist,"

"Fuck off," Pete shot back, forcing himself to keep still. "I just want to get out of 'ere…get some air,"

Steve nodded slowly, wondering not for the first time since he had woken up if Pete was well and truly ready for today. The kid was a nervous wreck.

"Alright," he pursed his lips and then whistled through his teeth at the boys. "You lot coming for a few cheeky pre-match beers down the Abbey?" he grabbed his wallet off of the desk and held up a middle finger. "No, you cheeky cunt, they aren't on me,"

The depressed sigh he heard from Swill along with the giggle from Allie let him know his anticipation had been bang on and he turned, playfully slapping Swill's cheek and winking at them.

"If you make it till the end, I'll buy you a kebab later, how's that?" he relented.

"Oh you beauty," Swill grabbed the older man's face and laughed when he shouted and tried to pull away. "Nah, come on, that deserves a kiss, get over 'ere you slag,"

Allie laughed as they fell down onto the bed, Steve caught between laughing so hard he couldn't breath and trying his best to land at least one punch in.

"What're you doin' here anyway?"

Pete's voice broke her out of her daydream and she glanced up at him, horrified at herself when she spotted a droplet of water on his neck from his shower and found herself wanting to lick it off.

 _Down, girl_ , she admonished herself silently.

His blue eyes flickered up to hers as he fought to fasten his watch to his wrist, his fingers still bruised and swollen from his encounter with his father last weekend that it kept slipping.

"I was going to see if you wanted to get lunch," she told him, knocking the wind out of him when she pushed his hand to the side and fastened the watch for him, her smooth, delicate fingers brushing his arm as she did so. "I forgot it was football day,"

She pulled back from him and he found himself cold without her touch; truth be told, he was glad the lads were still in the room because he didn't know if he could cope with being alone with her right now.

"Fancy your chances down the pub?" Pete smirked, willing to pay good money to see it.

"Yeah, ok," Allie giggled, rolling her eyes. "I'll go the pub with you and you can come underwear shopping with me as a trade off,"

Pete felt as though his eyes were going to bug out of his head like they did in the old cartoons he used to watch with Steve on a Saturday morning; did she seriously just say that? And more to the point, why the fuck was he considering it?

"You know, we can go get manicures, a nice massage…" she trailed off and he caught the playful glint in her eye. Ok, so she was joking. Of course she was joking.

"Yeah, yeah, alright," he chuckled, slinging an arm around her shoulders and pulling her into a headlock like he normally would to tease her. It was definitely a just friends move…brotherly even. Or at least it would have been if she hadn't pressed her hand against his stomach in an effort to push him away. It was innocent enough but her fingers brushed against the bare skin just under his belly button and it resonated about five inches lower.

 **Fuck**.

Pete let go of her, shoving her away as though she were burning him. So much for playing it cool.

Allie stared at him as though he was nuts, her eyes clamping onto his and a perfect eyebrow arching questioningly.

"You're a little high strung today," she laughed, jerking her chin in Steve's direction as he stood with one foot on Swill's chest, continuing to batter him with a pillow. "Is everything ok?"

Pete knew exactly what she was asking; had anything happened with his father. They had spoken every night since he had moved into Pat's house but made a point of dancing around the subject of Michael Dunham. It seemed ludicrous that now she was finally bringing it up, she was completely off the mark, not understanding the reason for Pete's odd behaviour was actually her.

"I'm fine," he told her earnestly, feeling guilty at the panic and worry which had flashed across her pretty features. "Nothing to worry about…just football stuff,"

"Uh huh," the blonde nodded, clearly not buying it but willing to play along. "So can I look forward to a drunken phone call?"

"Absolutely," he told her with a wink, reaching for his coat and yanking it on. "Probably best to hit a cash point on your way home, I may need bail money,"

"Aye, aye!" Pat's voice boomed through the small room as he leaned against the doorway. "You wankers ready yet?"

Spotting the petite blonde in the middle of the room, a definite smirk playing on her full, peachy lips, he narrowed his eyes and pointed at her with his half empty mug of tea.

"This little piggy wasn't 'ere when I last did a headcount," he cocked his head.

"I scaled the house," Allie nodded to the window and elbowed Pete as she walked past him to give his Uncle a hug. "Everyone thinks he's the reprobate but really, it's me,"

"Always the pretty ones, ain't it?" he directed the question straight at his nephew who smiled far too tightly in return. God help the poor boy, he really was fucked.

"Well, look I'll leave you to it," Allie nodded, giving Pat a quick peck on the cheek before walking over to the bed and scooping up her car keys, jingling them in her hand for a short moment as she battled with how to say goodbye to Pete. Two weeks ago, she'd have thought nothing of jumping on his back and planting a big, wet kiss on his cheek but now if she even attempted that, she had a feeling she might spontaneously combust.

"Lunch," Pete nodded to her. "Tomorrow, yeah? My treat,"

"Sounds great," Allie smiled back at him. "Want me to stop by, force you out of bed and into the shower?"

"You wouldn't need to force 'im, darlin'," Bovver muttered loud enough for just the boys to hear.

The giggling from Steve, Swill and Dave drew Allie's attention and a dark look from Pete while Pat simply grinned, enjoying love's young splendours in all its ignorant bliss and awkwardness.

"Game on, Harding," Pete smirked at her, covertly delivering a sharp kick to Bovver's shin as he crossed the room and gently placed his hand on her back to guide her out.

"Later, blondie," Steve called, giving her a wave. "Give my love to the Lady Lara,"

"Behave," she called back with a giggle as she jogged down the stairs, coming to a stop at the bottom and grunting as Pete, obviously moving too fast, crashed into her and sent her flying backward into the front door.

"Christ!" he half laughed as he grabbed her. "You alright?"

"I'm fine," she grumbled, rubbing her elbow which had connected with the oak door behind her. "I know how Indie felt when that giant boulder was chasing him now, though,"

"Oh, piss off," Pete chuckled. "Always the drama queen, 'ere, lemme have a ganders,"

He took her hand in his and shook it, raising an eyebrow before pulling it up over her head, then down, bending it a few times as she giggled.

"Still attached," he nodded, rolling up the sleeve and peering down to inspect the joint. "Not a mark in sight,"

His hand slid down the unfathomably soft skin of her arm and he wondered briefly why he was torturing himself like this. Maybe this was a phase all male-female friendships went through and all they had to do was kiss and they'd realise it was nothing but hormones.

 _It's not that_ , an annoying voice shouted smugly in his head. _It's more than that and you know it, you dumb fuck_.

"Have fun today," Allie's soft voice broke him out of his own little world and he felt almost relieved. That was until he met her sage green eyes and his mouth went dry. "I know it's been a shitty week for you so just…have fun,"

"You goin' soft on me, Harding?" he teased.

"Please," she scoffed, turning and pulling the front door open, wincing as the early autumn chill in the air hit her square in the face. "I kicked your sorry arse with a Nerf Gun seven years ago and I'll damn well do it again,"

Pete grinned at the memory, opening his mouth to shoot something back at her but then freezing when she turned and gently placed a hand on his face. Holy shit. What was she doing?

Before he could even breathe, his face was buried in her hair, her arms wrapped around his neck tightly as she hugged him hard. She pulled back slowly, their faces inches from each other and when she bit down lightly on her bottom lip, he swore his heart stopped.

"And for the record," she met his eyes, a devilish glint in them. "You can call me Han because we both know I shot first,"

Then with a brush of her lips against the corner of his mouth, she was gone, waltzing down the path all honey hair blowing in the wind and keys jingling as they swung around a dainty index finger.

Pete stared at her as she got into her car and pulled away, unable to move even after her green beetle had disappeared into the ether that was lower Barking. It was only when a large hand clapped down on his shoulder that he blinked, turning to look at his uncle who merely grinned back.

"I'm fucked, aren't I?" Pete half whispered, shaking his head ever so slightly.

"With that girl?" Pat answered, worrying Pete somewhat when he seemed to know exactly what he was referring to. "Son, you never stood a fucking chance."

* * *

"Left, son, on your left!"

Edward Joseph Hatcher quickly glanced up, his Uncle's voice bellowing through his ears as he caught sight of the flash of maroon next to him. Taking a hard right and bringing the battered football with him, Eddie spun, volleying it into the air and then slamming his foot back hard, sending it spinning into the goal which was still a good 15 yards away from him. A cheer erupted from the sparse crowd and he grinned, catching the winking old man amongst the others as his team mates jumped on top of him, their celebratory shouts lost as the final whistle sounded.

"There's my boy!" Tommy laughed, clapping him on the shoulder as he ran over. "Fuckin' beautiful, son. Beautiful,"

"Cheers, Uncle Tommy," he panted, downing as much water as he could without stopping for breath. These Sunday morning tournaments amongst the under 21 London boroughs were his only outlet these days; working all the hours God could send in Tommy's garage left little room for anything else, especially university like most of the other lads were going to in a few weeks. Spitting onto the turf, he fought to swallow the jealously surging in his veins; it wasn't that he didn't have a good life, Tommy and Sarah were all he had and though they never said it, he was all they had. Their son Dylan had been killed in a hit and run accident four years ago on his way home from this very pitch. His ghost was always there, Christ, they set a place for him at the table still but that didn't mean they treated Eddie like anything less than a son.

Glancing up, he tossed his water bottle to the ground and frowned when he spotted a man stood across the pitch, his clothes wrinkled and slept in, covered in oil and muck. He was about to open his mouth and shout something to him when he realised the man's gaze was not in fact on him but on Tommy. Snorting to himself, he turned, gently tapping on his uncle's shoulder and pulling him away from the conversation he was steeped in.

"No, I'm telling you, he fuckin' waltzes in, all guns blazin' and I 'ad him up against the wall before he could blink," Tommy laughed, accepting the cigarette his friend Jim was holding out to him. "Typical fuckin' queer starts going on about how he knows I'm over chargin' him and…" he trailed off when he felt a hand gently tapping against the worn leather of his shoulder.

Not a man who enjoyed being interrupted, Tommy turned, his eyes filled with fire but relenting somewhat when he realised it was Eddie.

"You alright, son?" he asked, noting the frown on his nephew's face.

"Think we've made a friend," Eddie laughed, pointing over the far side of the field. "You recognise that geezer? He's been making eyes at you for the last five minutes,"

Tommy squinted into the early morning mist and dew, not seeing anyone that stood out to him. It was mainly joggers and the odd parent leaving the match, no one he could…

The cigarette fell from his fingers, the embers sizzling out instantly as they met the dewy grass at his feet. Inside, his blood turned thick and sluggish, not quite pushing its way around his veins and causing his mind to go blank of anything but shock and anger.

It couldn't be…

"Who is he?" Eddie's voice brought him back to reality.

Just as he spoke the words, the silent figure turned and left, striding through the cars strewn about the grass and into the woodland to their left. Bending down to pick up his fallen cigarette, Tommy smiled grimly and wiped it dry, happily accepting the lighter Jim handed to him.

"No idea, Eddie," he replied, making sure to keep his voice low and even while his brain was doing the opposite, spinning faster and faster, rousing a headache in his left temple as he took a long drag of smoke.

"You get right fuckin' weirdos comin' down 'ere," Eddie shuddered, reaching for his Millwall hoodie and yanking it on. "Fuck knows what he wanted,"

Tommy didn't answer him, too busy searching the dense woodland with his eyes, desperately trying to catch a glimpse of him again and hoping he was wrong. Hoping that he was still pissed from last night's session down the Deacon Arms, hoping he was tired from 6 shifts in a row down the garage.

Hoping with all his might he hadn't just spotted Michael Dunham at his nephews football match with a deadness in his eyes and what looked awfully like a knife in his hand.

* * *

 **Ah-ha! So the Dunham's weren't responsible for Tommy's son's death...something else caused the bad blood between them but you won't find that out until the next chapter...oh and you can look forward to another familiar face coming back not to mention a death in the near future. Come on, guys. Its me. It might be an AU of an AU but its still me. Captain Manic Depressive to the Rescueeeeeeee ;) El xx**


	9. In The Name of the Father

Hi guys! So this chapter is insanely long but so overdue that I figured I should be generous with the word count so consider this both a gift and an apology :) A huge thank you to anyone reading this and a huge kiss to anyone kind enough to take the time and leave a review, they really do mean so so so much.

As a writer and a human, I'm sure you'll agree with me that what happened in France 24 hours ago is shocking and devastating. I would never be so patronising or self indulgent as to dedicate a chapter to the people of France but I do want to say this:

 ** _Nous pleurons mais nous ne craignons pas. Nous sommes l'un et nous sommes puissants. Les bâtiments peuvent être renversés et des balles peuvent être licenciés, mais la passion est un feu qui aucun homme ne peut_ _éteindre._**

 ** _Vive le France._ **

**_We weep but we do not fear. We are one and we are powerful. Buildings can be toppled and bullets can be fired but passion is a fire which no man can extinguish._ **

* * *

"You're in trouble,"

Allie Harding froze as she entered the foyer of her home, the warmth that had momentarily seeped into her body from the fireplace to her right being replaced with annoyance and a touch of fear as she watched her brother saunter towards her with an apple in his hand. This must have been how Snow White felt that that wart nosed bitch knocked on her door.

"Why?" she blew a wisp of blonde hair out of her eyes as she shut the door and placed her shopping bags down, though careful to keep them upright. She had bought underwear that she was certain would put her brother into therapy for the rest of his life should he accidentally see it. "What've you done and managed to pin on me now?"

"Oh no, ass-face," Harry laughed. "This is all you,"

" _I'm_ in trouble?" Allie cocked her head, trying to think what she could have possibly done. "What could I possibly…"

"Alyssa Scarlett Harding, if that's you, get in this kitchen this instant!"

Allie felt her jaw drop whilst her brother only smirked wider; Poppy and Richard Harding were not disciplinarians. Between being shit at it in the first place and having kids whose idea of raging against the machine was to sneak a bottle of wine from the cellar every now and then, there was little need for scolding in this household. And in her seventeen years on this planet, she had certainly never heard her mother shout like that.

"Scratch that," Harry pointed at her, taking a bite of the apple he was holding and grinning at her with his mouthful. "You're not in trouble, you're officially fucked, Amigo."

"I swear to God, if you've dropped me in it," the blonde took a step towards him, eyes blazing.

"And _I_ swear on every copy of Playboy I've ever owned, I have no idea what this is about," he shook his head. "Now go in there and take it like a man,"

"Oh piss off," Allie muttered, slapping the apple from his hands and ignoring his laugh.

"If she kills you, I get your vinyl collection," he called after her as she started down the hall.

"If she kills me, all I plan on doing with the afterlife is haunting the shit out of you," Allie called back in a sing song voice, tuning out his laughter as she approached the kitchen door and took a deep breath.

She could hear voices coming from within and frowned; who the hell was in there? Was this a school thing? Or god forbid had her mother found the condoms Lara had forced her to stash in her bedside drawer? Other than that there was nothing…

Suddenly the door swung open with such force that she half expected it to rip off of its hinges. Her mother's bright green eyes zoned in on her and Allie swore she felt something pass through her. Like a wave of pure, hot rage.

"How kind of you to grace us with your presence," Poppy smiled manically.

"Hi Mummy," Allie whimpered, going for innocence as best she could. It was hard to defend yourself when you weren't certain what you had done wrong.

" _Mummy_ is it?" Poppy's eyes grew wide. "Well, at least you know you're buggered,"

"Jesus, Pops let her breathe will you?" her father gestured to her from where he was stood at the kitchen counter, stirring a cup of tea. "Plus I really don't want you wasting your energy on shouting,"

Richard turned and grinned at his daughter, raising the steaming mug to his lips and taking a sip.

"If we need to kill her, I'll need all the help I can get to dispose of her body. It's hard work, so I hear,"

"O-kay…" Allie shook her head. "I have no idea what either of you are on about right now? I've established there's a bounty on my head but if someone could tell me why then-…"

She was cut off when something hit her face, momentarily blocking her mother's furious glare and her fathers amused smirk from view. Reaching up, she pulled the item away and instantly shrieked, throwing it to the ground.

"What the hell is wrong with you!?" she shouted at her mother. "What kind of God damn messed up punishment is this? Those have been on Harry's…ugh!"

Allie kicked the offending pair of boxer shorts away from her and stared at her mother as though she were mad.

"Care to explain?" Poppy hissed at her.

" _Me explain_?" Allie laughed. "I come home from shopping and have you going all bloody Bates Motel on me for no reason and then throwing my brother's skanky underwear in my face! My god woman, is this a menopausal thing or have you just lost it completely?"

Richard laughed and quickly covered it up with a cough upon catching the look on his wife's face. Something he had learned twice in his life: no Harding woman was worth pissing off.

"They're not Harry's, they're not your fathers, they aren't Richards," Poppy spoke calmly. Too calmly. "And I found them under your bed when I was collecting your washing earlier…so perhaps you could lose the smartarse attitude and explain to your mother, the woman who let you use her body as a husk for nine months and still sees you as the little girl she pushed on the swings as to why it is a pair of men's 'skanky underwear' was under the bed of her 17 year old daughter?"

The words left her mouth before she could stop them and as soon as they did, Allie Harding honestly prayed for death. An act of God. A heart attack. Spontaneous combustion. Anything.

"Oh God, they're Pete's."

"What?!" Four voices shrieked in unison and Allie blinked, turning along with her mother and father to frown at the two heads poking around the side of the glass door at the far side of the kitchen which led to the garden.

"You two, get out!" Poppy roared, ignoring the giggles of Lara and Harry as their heads disappeared, Lara's whisper of "I bloody knew it!" not going unnoticed before silence descended once again. Turning back to her daughter, Poppy attempted to gather her thoughts. Granted, she and Moira had talked on numerous occasions about how obvious it was that their son and daughter were hopelessly in love with one another but this…this wasn't how she envisioned that love story going.

"Repeat that for me, darling," she half whispered, her eyes closed in a silent prayer.

"Look," Allie fumbled over her words, her eyes drifting from her father to her mother. Whilst the latter looked ready to keel over, her father had a predatory anger in his eyes she hadn't seen before.

"I know I should have told you," she licked her lips. Why was her bloody throat so dry all of a sudden? "But Pete stayed last weekend. The night," she gulped. "In my bed,"

Poppy let out a laugh and sank down onto one of the stools around the breakfast bar whilst Richard merely, dusted the crumbs from his toast off of his jumper and shrugged.

"Right, well, mystery solved," he smiled at his wife. "Just let me get my gun and we'll be off,"

"It wasn't like that!" Allie cried, shoving her hands into her hair and yanking on it slightly.

"Oh details really aren't wanted or needed," her father grimaced as he held up a hand. "I'd like to live out the rest of my days with what little innocence and belief in magic I have left,"

"He stayed because he had nowhere else to go," Allie shot back, her tone taking on a tinge of pleading. "He was…hurt. He couldn't go home,"

At that, she watched her parent's body language change completely; having known Pete seven years, she knew that both her mother and father adored him. And as with their own sons, they would do anything for him.

"What do you mean hurt?" Poppy pushed herself back onto her feet, catching the tears in her daughter's eyes and feeling her stomach twist. "Allie?"

Allie glanced back and forth between them, the demons inside her battling it out. She had promised Pete no one who didn't already know out of necessity would find out about what happened, but as she stood here looking at her parents, her friends with tears in her eyes, she was unable to do anything but tell them the truth.

"His dad…he beats him," she whispered and with that a spectral tsunami seemed to wash through the kitchen and knocked both Poppy and Richard back into their chairs. "He hits Moira, too," she continued. "Last Friday when we got our exam results, Pete went home and Moira was…a mess. So he confronted his dad and…Michael went nuts. He hit Pete with a wrench, kicked him, his ribs were so bruised I thought they were…" she looked up at her mother and saw tears cascading down her cheeks. "I bandaged him up and gave him some of Harry's clothes to wear but I couldn't let him go back there," she sobbed, her eyes wide as she silently pleaded with her mother to understand. "Mum, I couldn't…I couldn't let him get hurt again,"

Before she could blink, she was in her mother's arms; Poppy held her tightly as she sobbed and met her husband's gaze over the halo of Allie's hair. He too was fighting to hold it together, his jaw set hard and his fists clenched.

"Oh darling, I'm so sorry," Poppy whispered. "It's alright, shhhh."

"Allie," her father shook his head, brushing the hair from her face. "Sweetheart, why didn't you tell us this before?"

"Its Pete," she sniffed, shrugging.

Catching their grins, she knew they both understood. The Dunham pride was as notorious as the Harding temper in this house.

"That explains why I haven't been able to get hold of Moira," Poppy murmured, her heart breaking for her dear friend. "I've been calling all week and trying to get her round for tea but…"

"Bloody hell," Richard breathed. "I think I preferred it when we assumed you'd been running an escort service upstairs,"

"She didn't say she wasn't in all fairness," her mother pursed her lips, causing Allie to giggle.

"Very true," Richard nodded. "All we ask for is a cut on your earnings,"

"Like upper class pimps," Poppy chimed in, smiling when her beautiful daughter laughed and used the sleeve of her sweater to wipe the make up from under her eyes.

"I'm sorry we…"

"Its fine," Allie told them, meaning it. "Although if that's the reaction I get from one pair of boxers, I'm reserving front row seats for when you search Harry's room,"

"Oh darling," Poppy sighed, tucking her hair behind her ears and smiling sadly. "All hope for your brother's moral compass and soul was lost long ago,"

It took a moment for their laughter to die down and then a heavy silence enveloped the three of them, consuming them and pushing them into a deep, dark place they didn't want to be.

"We need to deal with this," Richard spoke first, his voice breaking sharply through the ice Allie found herself swimming under. "I mean did they even call the police?"

"Dad, you can't!" Allie jumped up, her eyes wild. "Please! I promised Pete no one would know about what happened and if he thinks I-…"

"Ok, ok," Poppy soothed her, looking over her shoulder at her husband and giving him a what-do-we-do-now look. "Well we have to do something; if Pete and Moira aren't safe there…"

She frowned when she saw her husband simply nod to himself and walk over to where his Barbour jacket was still hanging on the wall, still soaked from the earlier rain.

"Leave this with me," he told them, holding up a hand when he saw Allie open her mouth to protest. "Allie-cat, give your old man some credit." He smirked, reaching for his umbrella and shaking it dry before yanking open the glass door and wincing as the wind struck his face. "I'll be back when I'm back,"

Allie and Poppy stared at the door after it closed, neither of them particularly knowing what to think.

"Should we be worried?" Allie asked her mother eventually.

"About your father?" Poppy laughed, pulling her into the crook of her arm as she did when she was a baby and stroking her hair. "No, darling. We shouldn't be worried." She sighed. "We should be petrified."

* * *

"The problem with Bowyer is that he ain't the strongest striker we've ever 'ad," Dave muttered through a mouthful of peanuts. "It's like he gets one decent shot in and then goes 'fuck it, that's me done for the day,'"

"The problem with Bowyer is that he's an arrogant cunt," Pete chimed in, winking his thanks to the barmaid as she placed a fresh pint in front of him and smiled flirtatiously. She was blonde, but a different blonde to Allie. Allie's hair had so many different colours in it, mainly gold and honey whereas this bird…

 **Christ**. He shook his head as the all too familiar voice made itself known again. **Comparing her to other birds…that's a good sign**.

"Did you want anything else?" she asked him, biting her lip.

Pete fought the urge to groan; she was one of those birds. Anything with its own teeth and a shadow would do.

"Nah, I'm alright, cheers," he smiled back at her, a heat creeping up his neck when he realised the boys were watching with grins on their faces.

"Well if you do need anything," she licked some of the offensively pink shiny looking sticky shit off of her lips a bit too slowly. "My name's Kylie," she stood up and lifted her shirt enough for Pete to see the name tattooed just under her bellybutton. "See?"

He could feel Bovver shaking next to him, desperately trying to contain his laughter as Pete fought to keep himself together.

"Very nice," Pete told her, relief flooding through him when another girl who was working behind the bar, shouted over to her for help serving.

"Duty calls," she gave him an over exaggerated pout and waved her overly long manicured fingers at him. "See you later, Pete,"

Waiting until she was out of earshot, Pete leaned forward and shook his head as the boys simply burst out laughing.

"Who was that and how the fuck does she know my name?" he frowned.

"I dunno mate, but I'd say you're in," Terry grinned.

"In for a chance of getting the fuckin' clap, maybe," Pete shuddered. He'd always heard Steve saying that the Abbey was the type of place where anyone who had anything to do with him or his boys could just blink at a girl and she'd be on her back. Watching as Kylie reached up to get a bottle, her neon orange thong poking out from her jeans as she did so, Pete grimaced. Why the hell would he want that when he had A…-

 **Don't you dare fucking finish that sentence!** His brain screamed at him. **Are you fucking kidding me, son? It's disturbing enough thinking about her when you're having happy Pete time in the shower but now you're claiming OWNERSHIP? Step. The fuck. Down.**

"I might go and get some air," he blurted out, needing to clear his mind of impure thoughts. Smirking when he realised his Allie themed thoughts would take the Pope, 6 tonnes of holy water and potentially Jesus himself to purify, he figured anything was better than sitting her getting ogled by some bird with an Oompa Loompa coloured thong.

"I'll come with you, mate," Steve told him as he came back to the table with Pat in tow. "I could use a smoke,"

"Oi," Pat frowned. "I thought you jacked that shit in,"

"Bad habits and all that," Steve winked. "You should understand that better than anyone,"

Pat slapped him playfully about the head before Pete could ask what it meant and jerked his chin towards a table of older looking men in the corner.

"When you come back in, I want you to meet some mates of mine," he grinned. "Army boys, right laugh,"

"Count me in," Pete nodded, smiling proudly when his uncle clapped him on the shoulder and winked at him. Why the hell couldn't he ever have felt that proud to be stood here with his own father? His body turned cold at the thought of Michael Dunham but he steeled himself, determined not to let it show.

"You comin' or what?" Steve shouted to him from where he was stood by the door, a cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth.

"Yeah, 'ang on!" Pete shouted back, prying his way through the crowds and whistling when the cold autumn air hit him square in the face. "Fuck me, its brass monkey's out 'ere,"

"That's a sign you ain't drunk enough," Steve laughed, sliding his beer across the table to him. "'ere, get that down ya and you'll feel like you're in the Bahamas soon enough,"

Taking a long sip, Pete rubbed his hands on his thighs to warm them up and then leaned on the table, gauging his brother's mood. Since last weekend, they hadn't talked about their father but he knew Steve was still living there and without their mother there, Michael had to be going apeshit.

"Does it hurt?" Steve asked him, taking a long, soothing drag on his cigarette.

"Does what hurt?" Pete frowned.

"Thinking that hard?" he smirked as his younger brother chuckled. "Mate, I'm serious. All them fuckin' cogs turning, it's like sitting across from Big Ben,"

"Who told you about my nickname?" Pete winked.

"Oh fuck off, you little shit, you wish," Steve laughed, snagging his pint glass and taking a sip, the two of them laughing and teasing one another until a moment later, Steve's jaw dropped as he stared at something behind him.

"It fuckin' can't be," Steve shook his head. "He wouldn't be that fuckin' stupid, surely,"

Pete froze, refusing to turn around, knowing when he did he would see his father storming towards him. He wondered briefly if he was sadistic enough to bring the wrench with him this time. Glancing at the various bits of broken glass around them, not to mention the pile of bricks from when the Abbey had the good intentions of building a proper beer garden, Pete realised his father had a lot of resources here. Why bother with a wrench when a brick will do?

"Don't suppose they serve a nice Macallan here?" an all too familiar voice came from right behind Pete. "Preferably the 1946? The 26 is basically piss water,"

Pete spun around and stared up at Richard Harding; the older man looked completely out of place with his Barbour hunting jacket pulled around him, his Breitling watch glistening in the autumn sunlight. Were it not for the warmth that emanated from him or his genuine smile, everything about the guy would have screamed 'Rob-Me-I'm-A-Prick'. Remembering the damage to his face which was still very much noticeable, he turned back to the table and yanked his hood up.

"The fuck are _you_ doing 'ere?" Steve laughed, clambering out from his side of the bench and coming around to give the man a hug. Whilst Steve didn't spend nearly as much time at the Harding household as Pete had when they were kids, he was still close enough to them and protective enough of Allie that he thought of them as extended family. Lord knows, they had unwittingly done enough for the Dunham's in the last seven years.

"Rent boys my side of the river are getting heinously expensive," Richard feigned distress. "I gather this is the place to come if I'm on a budget," he smirked. "So to speak,"

"Behave," Steve slapped him lightly. "You still couldn't afford me anyway, you tart,"

Richard laughed and then fell silent, staring at the back of the youngest Dunham man who had yet to turn and face him. Steve shook his head, answering his silent question and leaned in ever so slightly.

"I'll give you a minute, yeah," he winked and clapped the older man on the back. "Make sure you come in and see Pat before you leave, don't reckon he's seen you since what…97?"

"Make sure he knows I get better with age," Richard pointed at him as the door swung shut on his laughter.

Taking a deep breath, he took a step towards the bench, stopping only when Pete lurched to his feet and without looking at him properly, pulled his hood as far forward as possible and walked quickly towards the door.

"Can't really talk now, old man," Richard could hear the forced mirth in his voice and it made his stomach ache. "I'll pop round next week and…-"

"Pete, look at me," Richard pleaded as Pete came face to face with the door.

No. He wasn't doing this. He wasn't going to turn around and see sympathy in Richard Harding's eyes.

"I'm fine, mate," Pete snapped. "I'm just busy and I don't really have time to-…"

"It's Allie."

That was all it took; Richard felt a rage he had never known before bubble up inside of him as Pete spun around and met his eyes. The young man's face was woven from bruises and small cuts; a particularly nasty wound circled his temple on the right side and his left eye sat in a halo of purple.

"Is she alright?" Pete pressed, his heart pounding. What if Michael had gotten to her? What if he had hurt her? If he had then Pete would murder him. It was that simple.

"She's fine." Richard relented, tearing his eyes away from the injuries on the younger man's handsome face. From what he had ascertained from Allie, the ones he couldn't see were the worst anyway. "Sorry, dirty tactic on my part,"

Pete clenched his fists; he wanted to yell at him, to tell him to piss off, this wasn't his mess to clean up. More than anything he wanted to yell at Allie. She had promised him no one would know. He watched like a gazelle having spotted a lion as Richard circled him and took Steve's empty spot on the bench, seemingly not leaving any time soon.

"You look like shit," Richard told him and Pete was astounded when he realised the laughter filling the air was his own. Trust this poncy old bastard to snap him out of his misery that fast.

Pete ambled over and flopped back onto the seat across from him, resting his elbows on the table top and massaging his temples.

"Tell your daughter she's officially on my shit list," he mumbled, earning a laugh in return.

"Before you go Corleone on the poor girl, know that she didn't tell us because she wanted to," Richard chuckled, recalling the scene that had played out in his kitchen this morning when a distraught looking Poppy had stumbled into the kitchen clutching a pair of boxer shorts.

"Her mother had her balls to the wall after finding your boxers under her bed,"

Pete froze; he had felt intense fear a number of times in his life, when Steve had been playing around with Terry's brother's BB gun and shot a hole into the shed around 2cm above his head or just last week when his father had stood above him brandishing a wrench and telling him the world wouldn't miss him if he died.

But right now, looking at Richard Harding, Pete knew deep down he would take the wrench and the BB gun a thousand times over this.

"Fuck," he whispered, placing his palms flat on the table as he met the other man's gaze and tried to look earnest as possible. He was telling the truth; nothing like that had happened between him and Allie that night. Ok, there had been the moment when he woke up and she was laying across his chest and her leg between his and her breasts pressed against him had pushed his sore body to the very back of his mind but there was no way…

"I didn't…" Pete stuttered, his mouth suddenly dry as a bone. "I would never…I didn't touch 'er, Richard I swear."

"Christ man, here, have this," Richard laughed, pushing the nearly empty beer back over to him and shaking his head as the younger man tipped it down his throat. "I know nothing happened, I know you would never do that. Not unless you truly did want to die, anyway,"

Pete laughed, a short laugh which faded as soon as Richard met his eyes and he could see there was no longer any humour there.

"What are you going to do about this, Pete?" he asked.

"About what?" Pete raised his eyebrows. "My dad? Not much I can do, you know…it's just," he shrugged and sniffed as the cold wind picked up around him again. "It's one of them things, ain't it?"

Richard went quiet for a long moment and let his chin drop down to his chest, trying to collect himself. Michael had really done a number on this kid; convinced him not only did he deserve the beatings but that this was normal.

"You know my old man fought in the war,"

Pete looked up from his empty pint glass at Richard as he blinked into the sun a few times; his eyes were completely different to Allie's, all whiskey and gold. They were warm though, and open, letting Pete know he had nothing to fear.

"Tough bastard, but in the best way," Richard smiled wistfully. "My brothers and I we used to love listening to all his stories; when you're a child, all that blood and gore, it's not real is it? It's not people getting blown to smithereens, it's just a story. My old brother Thomas, he loved the fighting side of it. He always used to beg dad to teach him something, some hand to hand combat he could show off to his friends with in the playground. And my dad said no. Of course it pissed us off and it sure as hell didn't stop us asking but one day, he crouched down and he said to us, 'a real man only raises his hand when he has to.'"

Pete swallowed hard, trying to dislodge the lump that was building rapidly in his throat as Richard pinned him to the spot with his gaze.

"Because real men don't do what your pathetic excuse of a father did to you and your mum," he spoke in short bursts, his voice full of emotion. "They don't. And the fact that he did doesn't make him or you an exception to the rule, it just makes him a shit who doesn't deserve the title of father."

"Rich, you don't know…" Pete shook his head.

"I have two sons," the older man slammed his hand down onto the table. "Both of them drive me up the fucking wall, one more than the other," he rolled his eyes. "But the idea of anyone laying a hand on them…the idea of me losing my patience and touching a hair on their heads." He shook his head emphatically. "That's not what real men do and it's sure as shit not what a father does,"

"You're a good man, Pete," he continued. "And how I felt when Allie told me what happened was no different to how I would have felt if it had been either one of my sons. I love you the way I love them," he pointed a finger in Pete's face. "Don't you ever doubt that and don't you ever forget it,"

Pete tipped his head back to the sky for a moment, hating himself vehemently when he felt his eyes stinging and blurring with tears. Whilst he knew that Poppy and Richard cared for him, no one had ever spoken to him this way, no one.

"You know last year I had an existential crisis," Richard pursed his lips as Pete glanced back at him and laughed. Of all the things he had been expecting him to say….

"You fuckin' what?" he snorted.

"I hit the wall," Richard shouted, throwing his hands up in exasperation. "I realised I'd done nothing with my life but practice law and I wanted to try something else. So one of the boys down the cricket club…" he glanced around and lowered his voice. "Am I safe to say that word here?"

"Everybody gets one," Pete held up a finger for effect. "But drop the C bomb again and I'll fuckin' key your car myself,"

"That's fair," Richard continued. "So this posh wanker gets me into property and being the smart man I am, I buy a flat for Richard. I thought when he came back from University he wouldn't want to move back home but I hadn't factored in the lovely Jules,"

"He's living with her?" Pete spat out. He had only had the…pleasure of meeting her twice but both times she didn't even try to hide her disgust about the fact he was clearly not part of the upper crust. He had felt borderline ashamed of himself and ready to run out of the door until Allie had deadpan flat out asked Jules if walking with a hot poker up her arse made walking difficult and all hell had broken loose. Smirking at the memory, he made a mental note to take Allie somewhere nice tomorrow. After the morning she had at the hands of her parents, he wouldn't be surprised if she was gunning for his blood, too.

"Living with her/under her thumb," Richard countered. "Whichever way you want to look at it. Anyway, I buy this pissing flat, furnish the damn thing, even put a snooker table in it and he swans off with the ice princess. Worst thing is, Poppy doesn't know I bought it. If she ever finds out she'll probably assume it's where I keep my Thai brides,"

"Christ alive," Pete chuckled, shaking his head. "And I'm meant to be the one who's a fuckin' wreck…you Harding lot are a right bunch of liabilities,"

"It's all part of our charm," he winked. "So I've got this flat fully furnished, near Roehampton uni all ready to go…" he reached into his pocket and dropped a solitary key onto the worn wooden bench. "All I need is a tenant,"

Pete's eyes widened as it dawned on him what was happening; snorting out a laugh, he pushed himself slightly backward and shook his head. No, no way in hell.

"You're 'avin a fuckin' bubble?" Pete cried. "Harding, it's a nice gesture but I can't take a fuckin' flat from you,"

"And why not?" Richard frowned. "It's mine, I can do what the hell I want with it. I want you to have it, I want you to be safe, to have somewhere to call your own. Jesus, every man alive needs a batcave. And its two bed so you can bring your mum…"

Pete felt his eye stinging again and shook his head, unable to get words out for a long moment.

"You've done too much for my family as it is," he choked out. "And you can't give me a flat. You said yourself you bought it for one of your sons,"

"I can…I did," Richard gently knocked Pete's chin up until their eyes met. "And I am giving it to one of my sons,"

"I can't…" Pete felt a tear run down his face and hated himself for it.

"Then pay me rent," Richard shrugged. "Whatever works; I don't care. I just want you to have a home. It's you or a Thai bride, Dunham so either way you're saving my arse,"

Pete laughed and nodded ever so slightly; he could pay rent. He could do that. Jesus, it was the least he could do.

"Is that a yes?" Richard grinned, he opened his mouth to say something when suddenly Pete stood and launched his upper body across the bench and pulled him into a tight hug. Instantly Richards hand came up and clapped down on the back of his neck.

"Good man," he whispered into the youth's shoulder, his heart breaking when he felt Pete's body trembling with silent sobs. Pulling back, Pete looked at the ground for a long moment trying to pull himself together.

"Right," Richard nodded to himself, throwing the flat key to Pete as though it were nothing and getting to his feet. "I'm off inside to see Pat and drink some piss warm beer," he grinned. "I gather your friend Swill is buying?"

"Who the fuck told you that?" Pete laughed.

"No one," the older man shook his head. "But if he ever wants forgiveness for what he did to that poor girl in my garden last weekend, he better buy me a damn drink."

"You heard about that too?" Pete laughed loudly, it came all the way up from his soul and for the first time in days, he felt weightless.

"It takes a lot to stun Harry Harding into silence," Richard shuddered. "The things he told me…"

"Best not to think about old man," Pete winked and shoved him towards the doors of the Abbey.

"Ah, speaking of which," Richard turned and smirked evilly. "Granted this had a happy ending but the father code obligates me to let you know that if for whatever reason I ever find your delicates in my daughter's room again…." He grimaced. "I'll cut it off, clear?"

"That won't happen," Pete told him firmly, disgusted with himself when he found himself praying that wasn't the case.

"Oh lord," Richard sighed sadly, slapping his cheek. "I know they say love is blind…but fucking stupid, too?"

With a roll of his eyes, he moved into the pub, laughing as Pete shoved him again, pulling him into a headlock and ruffling his hair. Their mood was shattered quickly when Steve appeared in front of them, his arctic blue eyes flaring.

"Get out," he snapped quietly. "Now,"

"The fuck are you talking about?" Pete frowned. "Mate, Rich is coming in for a-…"

"Well ain't that a nice little picture,"

Pete instantly felt his jaw set, his teeth grinding together as a hatred he was slowly coming to embrace coursed through him. Turning his head, he caught sight of his father, propped up against the bar, his West Ham shirt amess with beer stains and god knows what else.

"Didn't think this was your scene, Kensington," Michael tipped an invisible hat towards Richard who muttered something so vile under his breath that even Pete blinked at him in shock. "Come on then, Petey, how's about buying your old man a pint?"

Pete snapped back to reality and stepped further into the bar, noting the way the crowd had parted and stepped back from Michael Dunham entirely, clearly wanting no association. His father's gaze was leering, just as it had been that night in his room; this was a challenge. Another chance to take his son down a few notches.

"You fuckin' deaf, boy?" Michael spat at him. "I said get over 'ere,"

"Go home, Michael," Pete shot back, seeing the shock in his fathers eyes and revelling in it. "You're embarrassing yourself,"

"You reckon, do ya?" he slurred. "Big, brave lad in 'ere, aren't you, Petey? Weren't so brave when I was putting you in your place the other night, were ya? Had a good old cry when I took that wrench to ya, didn't you boy?"

Instead of walking out like he knew he should, Pete found himself stepping around his brother and into his father's path, his fists no longer shaking but clenched by his sides. He was in complete control and honestly, that scared him more than anything.

"Say that again, you sad old fuck," he snapped. "Come 'ere, toe to toe and say it. I'll put you in the fuckin' ground,"

"And if he don't, I will." Pat shouted, rounding the bar and staring at his brother venomously. "Go home, Mikey. You're out your tree and you're out your depth. I don't need you, the boys don't need you and the GSE don't need you. So get out before I do something you're gonna end up regretting,"

"Kick me out of my own firm?" Michael hissed, stumbling forward and into his brother, wishing he'd stopped about seven whiskeys back so he could have the wherewithal to at least land one punch.

"It ain't your firm," Pat told him. "It's mine…and its Steve's. And soon, it'll be Pete's as well. Your boys don't need you, Mikey. I don't need you. Your wife don't need you. You're nothing to no one." He leaned forward and caught the despair briefly flashing across Michael's face but found himself unable to care. "So get out of this pub before I forget my manners and start teaching you yours."

Michael glared at Pat then to his two sons behind him, stood not scared but ready for battle. Even the old guard around him looked at him disinterestedly, as though he were nothing.

"You remember this moment, Patrick," he whispered to his brother. "You just signed your own fuckin' death warrant,"

"Spare me the dramatics, you stupid fuck," Pat snorted. "Just get out,"

Michael downed the rest of his beer and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand, glaring at the audience who had congregated around them.

"What the fuck are you cunts looking at?" he almost screamed, his eyes manic. "Get the fuck out of my way,"

He shoved Pete and Steve hard to the side, not looking back to see where they landed. If they wanted him gone, they fine, he would go. But that didn't mean that would get to carry on as though everything was sunshine and roses. Coming to a stop a few streets later, he collapsed onto the pavement and with shaking hands, drew a cigarette and his phone from his pocket, dialling the number he had begun to know by heart whilst lighting the crumpled fag and taking a long pull.

It took four rings before they answered and he waited for silence on the other end before he spoke.

"What you said about wanting to know what happened with Pat back in 82," he blew out a powerful gust of smoke and watched it dissipate into the cool air. "I'll tell you everything."

"Out of the goodness of your heart?" the voice answered. "How the fuck did you get this number anyway?"

"That don't matter," Michael spoke calmly. "All that matters is I'll tell you everything you've always wanted to know…and all I want you to do for me is to kill him. And make sure it's slow."


	10. Lost in Translation

**...So this is a tad overdue! Long story short, I've had a lot going on with work and this is the first full week I've spent back in the country since my last chapter which was what...a month ago?! Between that and tech issues (thanks, Apple) about 60% of this chapter had to be re-written. But I finally got it to a stage where I was happy with it...although happy may be a strong word as I hated writing the ending. And there's worse to come so brace yourselves.**

 **Reviews are welcome as always...in fact you'd be making my YEAR given the bitch of a hassle its been to get this chapter up and running! Read, enjoy and rest assured chapter 11 won't take a goddamn month to come because that would be truly evil giving this ending to this one.**

 **Love, El x**

* * *

"That was fucking filthy and you know it, what the fuck are you doing, ref?"

Pat Dunham glanced up at his nephew as he jumped to his feet yet again and screamed at the pitch, his indigo eyes narrowed squarely at the referee who ambled between two squabbling players, oblivious to the torrent of abuse being hurled his way.

Pat knew truthfully that Pete's outbursts, which were now at four and counting, had more to do with the showdown at the Abbey with Michael than it did the hammers. Christ, the game wasn't even that important in regards to the league, whether they won this or not they were through to the next stage. No, this was pure rage. Before he could say anything, Steve leaned forward and pulled his brother back down, ignoring the look Pete gave him as he slammed back down into his seat and instead handed him a beer.

"Keep your knickers on, son," Steve smirked. "Anymore bitch fits like that and I might 'ave to start calling you Bovver,"

Bringing the warm beer to his lips, Pete chuckled against his will, a wave of calm momentarily passing through him. Ever since he had watched his father stalk out of the pub, shoulders hunched and breathing heavy, he had felt on edge. Unlike the others, he seemed to be the only one who knew that if the history books were anything to go by, Michael Dunham didn't go quietly. Or peacefully. A few sharp words in a pub were not enough to send him into the ether never to bother anyone again. On the way in, he had excused himself long enough to make a quick call to his mother, wanting to check she was ok and more importantly that she hadn't been next on Michael's list. Relief had flooded through him when she had answered and informed him that she was at the Harding residence being force fed wine and chocolate cake by Poppy. He had laughed when she confessed to him that Allie had locked herself in her room, apparently unable to look her in the eye given this morning's events. It took three boxer short jokes courtesy of Harry for the blonde to mutter something rather unladylike before barrelling up the stairs and slamming her door.

Relenting somewhat, he had informed his mother he would stop by on his way home, noting he would probably have to thank Allie _again_ for the what had to be the hundredth time in a week.

"It's a game," Pete shrugged. "I'm getting involved,"

"Then crack a fuckin' smile," Steve snorted. "Its football day, mate. You're in the stands watching the mighty hammers, you've got piss warm beer in your hand and your mates around you," he grinned. "If this ain't your idea of heaven then you ain't my brother,"

Pete smirked, conceding with a shrug and a gentle tap of his own plastic pint glass against his brothers. This morning seemed but a distant memory in the roar of the stadium, the boys behind him cackling and bantering through the game.

"Plus, we might 'ave got a cheeky bit of intel about what the yids 'ave planned for afterwards," Steve wiggled his eyebrows.

"The yids?" Pete laughed. "As in the firm?"

"Lower it, son," Pat leaned in, shushing them both. "We ain't trying to get nicked before we're even out the grounds,"

Steve nodded knowingly and turned back to the game whilst Pat gave Pete a wink before doing the same; it was then that Pete felt something clench in his chest. He had always known about the existence of the firms, Christ, growing up in East London, you'd have to be deaf, dumb and blind not to but he hadn't ever suspected his family were part of it. But suddenly the nights Michael and Pat would come home drunk and sporting bruised knuckles before their relationship had completely soured seemed to make sense. Recalling his father's faded Hammer's tattoo with the scar running through it from there he had 'tripped and fallen' on a broken glass, Pete found himself sweating, adrenaline pulsing through his entire body as he remembered what Pat had said to him in his kitchen the other morning.

 _"Trust me son, by the time you walk out of those gates, your old man will be the last thing on your mind."_

Before he could even contemplate voicing any of this, the maroon side of the stadium jumped to its feet, a deafening roar crackling through the air as Bowyer swept around the pitch with his arms in the air letting him known in his dazed state that they had indeed just scored and won the game.

"Fuckin' beautiful!" Pat practically jumped onto him, ruffling his short messy blonde hair with his thick fingers and laughing. "Did you see that?"

"Oi," Steve's voice broke through the ruckus around them and both men glanced up to where he was stood, already in the isle with the rest of the lads. "We're on,"

Pete frowned at him, opening his mouth to ask him what he hell was going on when suddenly Pat grabbed him by the shoulders and spun him around, cupping his chin firmly and staring at him determinedly.

"Pete, listen to me," he spoke slowly, his voice firm and clear as droves of men shoved and pushed their way around them to the exit tunnels. "We're about to get into it and I need to know you're alright,"

"What the fuck are-…"

"It's a yes or a no," Pat shook his head. "The rest of the details can be filled in later, any questions you got, just be a good boy and shove 'em to the back of your brain until I got time to answer them. And I will, Petey. I will. But right now, I need to know you can handle yourself,"

"I got this," Pete nodded, knowing he should feel nervous but for whatever reason, he only found himself itching to get out there.

"Good lad," Pat gently patted his cheek. "Eyes up, don't stop for nothin' or no one and more than that," he smirked. "Every bit of anger you've got towards your old man, bring it to the surface. Let it loose, son. You go out there with a bit of fire in your belly and your feet won't touch the ground,"

Pete found himself grinning back, shifting from foot to foot as though he could break into a run any moment. Running into the unknown. Not the smartest move but who the hell cared at this moment? He had the boys, he had Steve and Pat. And for the first time in years, he found himself revelling in the fact that he was a Dunham.

* * *

"I have a sneaking suspicion that if you look for it, you will find that love actually _is_ all around us,"

"Oh piss off, Hugh Grant," Allie Harding mumbled grumpily as she lay on the cloud of pillows on her bed, her cat Kermit glancing up at her with disdain before he lay his head down again and went back to napping. After an entire morning of jokes about Pete, Allie had finally tired of her brother's bullshit and retired to her bedroom where of course the fates had decided to put Love Actually on television.

Just what she needed. Two and a half hours of sexual tension and unrequited love.

Reaching over her notebooks, she grabbed hold of the black sharpie and spun it in her fingers, trying anything so she couldn't think about the fact Pete had lain in this bed with her, his warm body against hers, his arms around her. She had woken up a few times in the night to make sure she was ok, each time feeling her heart speed up when she realised that one way or another they were wrapped around one another. It had felt so normal, not odd like it should have. Being with him like that had felt right and if she was honest with herself, she hadn't slept well since.

"Snap out of it," she growled at herself as her thoughts took a stroll down _What If Avenue_ where all sorts of scenarios involving her finding Pete awake and staring back at her then leaning into kiss her were playing 24/7. Rated 18, naturally.

"Knock, knock,"

Allie rolled her eyes at Lara's voice and didn't bother turning her head to look at her. She had been just as bad as Harry downstairs.

"I come bearing chocolate," the red head peered into the room, wary of what the reaction might be.

"What?" Allie scoffed. "For me to slather Pete in it and lick it off?"

Lara smirked and raised an eyebrow, stepping into her friend's grand bedroom and leaning against the wall.

"Hate me all you want but that thought was all you," she held her hands up. "I'm literally just here to say sorry and feed you Godiva,"

"Cookie truffle?" Allie narrowed her eyes, finally turning to look at her.

"And honeycomb," the redhead nodded, dropping the bars of chocolate onto the bed and hissing back at the cat who had for some reason hated her since they met 13 years ago. "You ok?"

"Depends," the blonde answered in a sing song voice. "Are you and my hopefully adopted brother done making sex jokes about me and Pete in front of his _**mother**_? Not to mention mine who still looks like she might start scanning my bed sheets with a black light at any given moment just to be sure,"

Lara giggled and shook her head, collapsing onto the bed next to Allie and brushing her hair gently with her fingers. The heady scent of vanilla and cinnamon coming from the array of candles strewn about the room made her feel almost instantly sleepy so she pushed one of the plush feather pillows behind her back should the urge take her. Strangely, Allie's house had always been home. Whilst she loved her scatter brained artistic mother and her rogue father, their divorce four years ago had left quite the sour note in all of their lives. And now with daddy living in France with his new little bit who happened to be a mere four years older than Lara herself, the arguments had started up again and as such the Harding mansion had become her sanctuary.

"You do realise your Mama Harding is merely guilty of being the first to mention what we've all been thinking for years," Lara countered.

"Seriously, we're getting into this again?" Allie cried, flinging an arm over her eyes dramatically. "I did not have sex with Pete,"

"I know you didn't," Lara laughed. "But 'I didn't' and 'I don't want to' are two very different things,"

Allie snorted and pushed herself upright, shrieking when her friend grabbed a handful of her hair and yanked her back down so that her head was on her knees. Lara's fingers went back to toying with the long, soft strands, her whiskey coloured eyes sparkling with the grin she was trying to hard to suppress.

"We're friends," Allie mumbled, not particularly willing to look her in the eye much longer. Lara had known her too long to be fooled.

"So you don't think he's hot?" the red head pursed her lips.

"Well...I haven't actually thought about..." Allie bit her lip and then frowned. "Wait...do you!?"

"Fuck yes!" Lara laughed. "Jesus, woman. I'm not blind! It was like the guy hit sixteen and then bam! All bets were off," she leaned down so she could peer into Allie's rich green eyes and smirked. "The puberty Gods did well with that boy,"

"He's not ugly," Allie conceded, ignoring the strange feeling in her stomach that felt oddly like a pang of jealousy. She knew that Lara was head over heels for Harry for some unfathomable reason but the idea of her...of any girl looking at Pete that way. It just didn't sit right. "He's...I don't know, he's Pete!"

She uncapped the sharpie she was still twirling between her fingers and hitched her camisole up, gently sketching the beginnings of a ladybird onto her hip; remembering her father's threat to replicate any tattoo she decided to get on his own body, she smirked and rolled her eyes. As if she should expect anything less from Richard Harding.

"The night he stayed...it wasn't about that," she spoke quietly, focusing on her handiwork instead. "He was so hurt and I don't mean physically. He's always been my superhero, you know? Always the overprotective pain in the arse who I could count on for anything. To see him break like that," she felt her eyes sting and shook her head as though trying to shift the images of Pete crying and clinging to her, bloodied and torn from her mind. But she knew deep down they would be with her forever. "I honestly think I could've given him a naked lap dance and he would have..."

"What's this about naked lap dancing?"

Both women jumped and turned towards the doorway where Harry Harding was stood with his usual arrogant yet loveable smirk, a box of chocolates in his hand.

"Ah, I see Red get on there before me," he gestured to the bed and threw his box down next to Allie's foot, scrunching his nose up when he saw his sister was seemingly drawing on her own hip. "What the hell are you doing?"

"Planning my tattoo," she answered, sticking her tongue out in concentration. Apparently drawing a ladybird upside down was harder than she had considered it might be.

"You do remember old man Harding's tattoo policy, don't you?" he raised an eyebrow.

"No more than you do, Mr I-got-the-Chinese-symbol-for-'dumpling'-tattooed-on-my-arse-in-Croatia," Allie told him in a sing song voice.

"You told me it was the symbol for warrior," Lara frowned, drawing a huge grin from Harry and a look of utter disgust from Allie.

"Sweet Jesus," the blonde sat up, covering her ears. "I can't be dealing with this! Out! Both of you!"

"What?" Her brother laughed, winking at Lara as he grabbed Allie's feet and used them to hurl her legs up and down as though he were shaking out a doormat. "Just because you and Dunham are stuck in a weird Dawson's Creek style whirlwind of sexual frustration doesn't mean the rest of us aren't allowed to get any,"

"Harry," Lara giggled, throwing herself down the bed and slapping his hands away from his sister's legs. "Shit off, will you? This is girl talk,"

"You don't think I can be sensitive?" he quirked an eyebrow.

"In certain spots you can be," she shot back, rolling her eyes as Allie made a loud gagging noise.

"That's it!" the blonde, shoved her hard enough to send her off of the bed and onto the plush rug beneath. "Both of you get out, let me eat my chocolate and perv over Andrew Lincoln in peace."

"Alright, fine," her brother laughed, reaching down and dragging Lara to her feet, throwing both arms around her shoulders from behind and grinning at his baby sister as she pouted. "But you're going to have to face facts one day, Allie Cat. You can't ignore it forever,"

"This unholy union of yours will never have my blessing," she narrowed her eyes at them, tearing into one of the chocolate bars and taking a huge bite. To hell with ladylike.

"I meant you and Dunham," he clarified, his voice losing all its humour as their eyes met. "It makes sense. Everyone else can see it except you two and its getting old. Have a word with yourself, spank your inner demons and just go for it," he smiled, his eyes shifting from her to Lara and Allie found herself unable to throw a sarcastic quip at him. The look in his eyes was one she had never seen before and it made her heart melt. God help the world, Harry Harding loved Lara Knight.

"To quote an actual doctor," he shrugged. "What's the worst that could happen?"

"Rejection," Allie answered immediately. "Public humiliation...constant awkwardness...dying alone..." her eyes widened suddenly and she glared at him. "That being said none of this actually matters because I'm not in love with him,"

"Right," Harry nodded.

"Absolutely not," Lara chimed in.

Allie stared at them a moment longer and then shook her head in disgust.

"Seriously, get the hell out of my room,"

They turned and sauntered towards the door, Harry walking backwards and clicking his fingers in Allie's direction, all heartfelt emotion gone from his handsome features, his usual arrogant smirk back.

"L...is for the way you look at me..."

"Shut up," she snapped.

"O...is for the only one I see," Lara giggled.

"Don't you freaks have anything better to do?" Allie shouted.

"V...is very, very...extranordinary...E.."

"Fuck off!" Allie half laughed, half shrieked as she chased them out, slamming the door behind them and leaning back against it, closing her eyes and ignoring the strange feeling in her stomach. It was just Lara and Harry being twats. Nothing to mull over. Christ knows if they weren't teasing her about Pete it would be something else.

"Please God let me be adopted," she whispered, massaging her temples slowly, trying to ease the ache building behind her eyes.

"I'll trade you your lot for mine," Pete's voice snapped her out of her reverie and she jumped, her eyes bolting open as she watched him drag himself over the Juliet balcony, landing in an unceremonious heap on her floor. "My dad might be a prick but if you get Steve pissed on Sambuca, he'll sing pretty much whatever you tell 'im to,"

She watched as he pulled himself up, sitting back, his arms draped over his knees, twirling the silver ring on his right hand as he smirked at her.

"I don't know how much of it you remember but his rendition of Lady Marmalade at Terry's birthday last year was fuckin' beautiful,"

His eyes met hers and Allie found herself unable to move; unable to do much of anything really. The bruises from last weekend had almost faded completely, leaving his ethereal blue eyes more prominent than ever as they bored into her. She could see the firm, hard muscles in his back and shoulders moving as he clambered to his feet and walked over to her. His long, artistic looking fingers ruffled his short dirty blonde hair as he strode through the room of pale peach and gold, looking utterly out of place but for the first time, all Allie could do was try to coax some saliva back into her desert dry mouth as she forced herself not to look over at the bed and wonder what he would look like laying on it preferably with her on top of him.

Fuck!

"What happened to your head?"

Her voice sounded squeaky and ridiculous, bursting out of her before she even realised she had spoken.

Pete stopped, frowning and then noticing the sting in his forehead; to say the fight after the match had gotten a tad out of hand would be an understatement but he had handled himself, done them all proud as Pat had told him. After eleven years being on the receiving end of his fathers hands, belt buckles, shoes and the odd building tool, a few punches from some Tottenham pussy were nothing to him. There had been men with them, stood shoulder to shoulder with him in the fray that he had never seen before but he knew whatever was happening was big. The crowd outside the stadium had parted for them as they walked out, Steve yanking his hood up as he steered Pete and the rest of the boys down into an alley, their footsteps echoing until suddenly a bottle had smashed at his feet and before he knew what was happening, he had been deep in it. Fists swinging, blood flying through the air...but unlike the fights with his father, this had felt exhilarating. Every man out there was Michael Dunham and all he had to do was close his eyes and swing.

But that didn't mean he'd come off completely unscathed.

"I uh..." he laughed nervous. "Turns out the stands get a bit lairy when its Hammers vs. Spurs," he told her, hoping she wouldn't ask anymore questions. The last thing the poor girl needed was another reason to worry about him. "I didn't even notice it until just now,"

He walked over to her marble top dresser and peered into the three sided mirror, pulling his hair back so he could eye up the small cut. It looked deep enough to justify a butterfly strip, maybe even some glue but his veins were still buzzing with adrenaline and he found himself not caring all that much. For whatever reason when the boys had all headed to the Abbey, he had wanted nothing more than to come here. To be with her. It felt like with Pat and the boys and University, everything in his life was falling into place. The only thing with a question mark over it was Allie Harding.

And he knew the answer to that. Christ, he'd known it since he was eleven years old.

"D'you reckon is life and death?" he smirked at her in the mirror, grimacing at the blood on his finger and wiping it on his jeans.

"Isn't everything with you?" she rolled her eyes, walking over to him and pushing him down onto the vanity stool, peering down at the cut and wrinkling her nose. Close up it as much nastier than the faint tint of blood in his hair would have her believe. "Remember when we were twelve and I accidentally hit you with a tennis ball and you cried?"

"I remember you hitting me with the fuckin' racquet and knockin' me out," he laughed, shoving her gently. "And I remember the ball itself getting me right in the crown jewels, hence the fuckin' tears,"

"Still," Allie waved a hand dismissively, dabbing at the cut with a tissue from her dresser. "You have a history of overreactions,"

Pete laughed, shaking his head and thinking back to that afternoon. One minute they had been in her garden pissing about on the tennis court and the next he was blinking into the blinding sunlight as Allie, Dave, Steve and Bovver all stared down at him, blood dripping into his eyes and what felt like a knife jammed into his crotch.

"I can't actually get through your hair to clean it up," Allie pursed her lips, rocking back onto her heels and shrugging. "Looks like you're doomed,"

"Shave it then," Pete told her with a shrug.

Allie looked at him as though he was mad and giggled, shaking her head. Mr-in-the-right-light-I-look-like-Brad-Pitt wants to shave his head?

"Uh uh," she shook her head. "No way am I doing that,"

"Why not?" he asked her, ruffling his short hair and glancing in the mirror. He'd been toying with the idea after watching Fight Club but like fuck was he about to tell her that.

"Because shaving your head will _not_ make you look like Tyler Durden," she smirked when his eyes widened and a blush crept up his neck. "I can read you like a book, Dunham,"

"Go on," he nudged her leg with his own knee and grinned boyishly up at her. "I dare ya,"

Allie bit her lip hesitantly; truth be told, she had no issue with shaving his head but after the conversation she had just had with her brother and Lara, she did have an issue with touching him. As it was her heart rate has sped up to an almost lethal level just from running her hands through his hair.

"Alright, fine!" she threw her hands up in exasperation. "I'll go and borrow Harry's clippers but I swear to _God_ , Dunham...one word of regret and I mean one teeny tiny minute whinge about how you don't like it and..."

"Yeah, yeah," he waved her off. "Whatever you do to me won't look as shit as when you put that pink shit in the ends of your hair a few years back,"

"How dare you," Allie glared at him, lifting a scolding finger. "I looked every bit the Indie fairy princess,"

"You looked like you'd lost a battle with a bottle of fuckin' bleach and a unicorn," he laughed when he caught the grin pulling at her own full peachy lips. "Now sod off,"

She turned on her heel obediently, lifting her middle finger to him as she strode out of the room, trying her best to ignore his laughter. Pete watched her leave, his laughter catching in his throat when his eyes slid down her back to her behind, catching the tiniest bit of dark blue lace peeking out from the waistline of her jeans. His mouth instantly went dry and he found himself gripping the stool he was sat on hard enough for his knuckles to ache and turn pale with strain. Fucking hell, was she trying to torture him?

It had taken a level of self-control he didn't know he had just then not to grab onto her hips and just pull her down to him; the way her fingers had felt in his hair just made him want more. So, so much more. Scrubbing his face hard with his hands, he looked at himself in the mirror and glared.

"Get your fuckin' mind out of the gutter, Dunham," he muttered. "It's Allie. Not just some bird you can perv over,"

He heard a noise next to him and glanced down at Allie's cat, shaking his head as the Siberian looked up at him, a knowing look on his face.

"Don't give me that, mate," he groaned, picking him up and scratching his neck. "I know I'm up shit creek, I don't need you on my back n'all,"

"Explain to me again why it is the world's most unsociable cat lets you hold him like that," Allie frowned, strolling back into the room, hair clippers brandished like a gun.

"Male bonding," Pete smirked, scratching the ball of fur under the chin. "Plus you can't really blame the poor bastard for being miserable,"

"Don't start…." Allie told him in a sing song voice.

" _You named 'im after a fuckin' frog_ ," Pete cried, lifting the cat up. "Look at him, he's sound. He needs a name like Tyson or Harley. Something with some balls,"

"Enough," Allie held up her hand to stop him, turning the clippers on full blast with the other and grinning. "Or are you forgetting what you've put me in charge of? Do you really want to piss me off right now?"

At the noise, the cat scampered, casting a look of disgust as his mistress as he repositioned himself amongst the cushions on the bed.

"At least one of you has some sense," she cocked her head and then turned back to Pete. "Ready?"

With a wink, he leaned forward, his elbows on his knees and she stepped forward, giggling at the absurdity of the situation. Only Pete. Taking a deep breath, she gently pushed the clippers through the centre of his head, creating what looked like a ridiculously wide middle parting.

"Done," she giggled.

"Behave," he laughed, cocking his head to one side so he could catch his reflection in the mirror. "I look like Krusty the fuckin' clown,"

"And yet its still an improvement," she grinned, stepping back in front of him and carrying on her task. She placed a finger gently on the cut near the front of his head, not wanting to go over it with the clippers for fear of making it worse.

Pete took a deep breath and closed his eyes, partly because the tufts of his hair floating to the ground were panicking him somewhat but mostly because her stood this close to him was agonising. His face was level with her flat stomach and every time she moved her arms, her t-shirt would ride up and show off her smooth, tempting alabaster skin. Not to mention if he lifted his eyes a few inches, he was eye to eye with her breasts and he wasn't even contemplating a move that stupid. He had some self-preservation left. She began to hum under her breath as she always did when she was concentrating and he smiled, cracking one eye open and then glancing back down, stopping when he spotted something.

"What the hell is that?" he frowned, not moving.

"Hmmm?" Allie asked, finishing up the sides of his head and marvelling at her handiwork. Not bad for a girl who's hand-eye coordination was rivalled by that of a toddler most days.

Brushing the last of his hair off of his shoulders, Allie felt her breath catch in her throat. Ok, so despite her eagerness to brush off Lara's questions earlier, she wasn't stupid, of course she had noticed how gorgeous Pete was. But with his hair shaved…Christ. He seemed older, sexier.

Much more tempting.

"This," he brought her mind back to the moment and pointed at the smudge on her t-shirt.

"Oh," she laughed, rolling her eyes. "I was um…playing tattoo artist with a sharpie and forgot about it,"

She hiked her t-shirt up slightly and caught the way his eyes flashed but refused to let herself dwell on it.

"You want a tattoo of a spider?" Pete quirked an eyebrow, trying to make head or tail of the black splat of ink.

"It's a ladybird!" she smacked his shoulder lightly. "As in…"

"Ladybird, ladybird, where have you been…" Pete smiled softly and Allie felt her heart stop. She couldn't believe he remembered that. Allie had told him years ago that as a child when she was getting ready for bed in the evening, her mother would always come in and instead of asking her how her day was, lay on the bed next to her and whisper 'ladybird, ladybird, where have you been?'.

"You remember that?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

"More than you remember how to fuckin' draw apparently," he laughed, clearly not understanding how much that had meant to her. "'Ere, throw me the sharpie, I'll see if I can fix it,"

Allie stumbled over to her bed, grabbed the pen and turned back to him, laughing when she caught him looking in the mirror.

"You're right, I don't look like Tyler Durden," he told her with a wink. "I'm much better looking,"

"Jesus," Allie muttered, rolling her eyes as she held the pen out to him and stood before him.

Uncapping it with his teeth, Pete pushed her t-shirt up slightly and the second his fingers made contact with her skin it was as though the reality of what he was doing hit him. Not just hit him but flung him into the ether, knocking the wind out of him and pinning him to some out of body realm where all he could do was stare at himself and wonder what in fucks name had convinced him he could touch her like this and not lose his head.

The skin beneath his fingers was rose petal soft and so warm, the black smudge marring it making him want to tell her not to get a tattoo, that she was perfect as she was. More than anything, he wanted to wrap his arms around her hips and push the t-shirt up over her head and kiss every inch of skin he could find but that was a whole other can of worms.

"Ladybirds don't 'ave eight legs for a start," he told her, his voice surprisingly firm and normal. "Didn't you go to one of the best schools in the country?"

Allie forced a laugh out of her throat, not trusting her voice enough to say anything back to him. One on his hands was splayed across her bare abdomen, the other poised with the pen, ready to strike. It wasn't as though Pete had never touched her before, just not like this. She bit her lip as he began drawing, coaxing the black mess into something resembling a ladybird.

"Much better," Pete grinned, chucking the pen back onto the vanity and admiring his artwork. He didn't move his other hand, enjoying far too much the feel of her under his fingers. She hadn't pulled away yet either but he refused to let himself look up at her, knowing all self-control would likely fly out of the window if he did. Pressing a finger against the marking, he frowned when it came away wet with ink and mindlessly blew on it, wanting it dry before she pulled her t-shirt back down.

The second his breath hit her stomach, Allie felt something snap inside of her that she hadn't ever felt before. She tilted her head back and desperately fought back the moan that was building in her chest as the warmth from his mouth made itself known on her skin. His lips had to be inches away from her and all she wanted was for him to close the gap and kiss her.

"You've still got some…uh…" she whispered softly, trying to avoid his eyes as she reached down and brushed some stray hairs from his shoulders. "So I've got a tattoo and you shaved your head," she smiled crookedly. "Think we've got this teenage rebellion thing down, don't you?"

He didn't answer her. He couldn't.

Pete felt his chest jolt when she finally relented and her eyes met his; her hand was in the crook of his neck, plucking the odd stray hair and his was still on her bare stomach. His thumb which apparently had a mind of its own was moving back and forth ever so slightly, rubbing there, his fingers twitching to pull her closer.

"It's late," Allie whispered again, her heart ramming itself desperately into her rib cage as she looked down at him. There was a look in his eyes she hadn't seen before and it was doing all kinds of things to parts of her body she hadn't felt before. Andrew Lincoln in Love Actually be damned…this is what lust felt like. "Did you want to stay for dinner or…"

She trailed off when Pete stood up wordlessly, his hand leaving her stomach and slipping around her back, her own hand sliding down his neck to his chest as he leaned over her.

"Harding…" he smiled softly, shaking his head. "Shut up…"

He lowered his head ever so slightly, feeling the tremor running through her fingers as they clutched at his sweater, her teeth sinking down into her full bottom lip and making him groan inwardly. With one last look at her eyes which he noted were focused solely on his mouth, he tilted, bumping his nose against hers and hearing her breath hitch.

"I know you still hate me but we're ordering thai food so if you….SHIT!"

Pete snapped out of his lust filled state, Lara's voice slamming through him like ice and causing him to jump back from Allie who was for some reason shifting things around on her dresser at the speed of light, her hands shaking uncontrollably as she grasped at the clippers and waved them around.

"I cut Pete's hair," she cried, a manic happiness to her voice that made Pete's ears hurt.

Lara simply stared at them, her mouth open but somehow forming a huge grin at the same time. Folding her arms over her chest, she shifted her gaze from Allie to Pete and back again, neither of them willing to meet it.

"I like it," the red head winked. "Very Tyler Durden,"

"Cheers, red," Pete nodded, rubbing the back of his neck and sending her a look that any other human would take to understand as 'get the fuck out' but this was Lara. Of course she didn't budge.

"I didn't know you were here," she raised an eyebrow.

"Window," he jerked his chin towards the balcony doors and shoved his hands into his pockets. "Which reminds me, I better be off," he cleared his throat. "I left the boys at the pub and I'm sure its my round by now,"

Reaching forward, he snagged Allie's hand and she turned, her eyes still wide as saucers. What the hell had just happened? What did this mean? She hadn't pulled back which meant on some level, she must be feeling something along the lines of the same.

"I'll um…swing by on my way back," he told her, sending her a smirk that caused her stomach to do that weird bouncy thing again. "Check on the tattoo,"

A smile pulled at her lips and she felt a blush covering her cheeks, pushing her tongue into the side of her cheek she nodded, giving him a knowing look.

"Bring me back something," she gestured to his head. "If I've made you look like Tyler Durden I think I deserve some kind of payment,"

"I'll think of something," Pete told her, his heart lurching at the thought. He could pay her back; he could think of a million ways.

Releasing her hand, he made his way to the window and navigated his way down. Allie watched him disappear from sight and stood there for a long moment in silence.

Holy fuck.

She jumped when a loud squeal sounded from behind her and she was shoved forward, Lara's arms coming around her shoulders from behind.

"Eeeeeeek!" the red head laughed. "Oh my God, that's the best thing I've ever ruined,"

"What?" Allie stuttered. "You didn't...I don't..."

"Don't even try that shit with me!" Lara spun her around and cupped her face in her hands. "How was it?"

"How was what?"

"The kiss!" she burst out, officially frustrated with the dithering blonde. "Come on, I leave you all pissy and pouty and come back 10 minutes later to find you sucking the face off of Pete-just-friends-Dunham, you cannot tell me there's no story to tell,"

"We weren't kissing," Allie told her, hating the fact she could feel herself blushing again.

"Not when I came in you weren't...but..."

"Lara," Allie laughed. "Nothing happened. I cut his hair, he gave me a hug...that's it,"

"Allie," Lara shook her head, genuinely disappointed that her best friend, lets face it her sister didn't feel she could tell her about what was going on. "I know this is a big thing, ok? You and Pete...I know its a risk because if it didn't work out then..."

"What?" Allie froze.

That aspect hadn't even crossed her mind; what if they kissed...they what? Six months down the line they end up hating each other and a seven year friendship just dies and he becomes someone she might see at Christmas and nod to from across the room? The thought hit her hard, causing a hard weight to form in her chest as she sank down onto the stool he had been sat on moments before. Yes, it had felt amazing being that close to him but...was it worth the risk? Honestly?

"There's nothing going on," she told Lara slowly.

"What?" she snorted. "Allie-Cat..."

"I don't think of Pete that way, alright?" she snapped. "Never have, never will. He's...he's Pete, you know? Every boy-girl friendship has this hiccup at some stage, its just hormones, I couldn't actually...do anything," she forced herself to laugh and roll her eyes. "The idea of being with him like that...Jesus, are you insane?"

Except that was exactly what she wanted; she couldn't imagine being with anyone else right now. It was Pete or she was dying celibate, it was that simple.

Lara stared at her hard for a long moment, noting the way her fingers were shaking as she nonchalantly tossed her hair over her shoulder and shot her a pathetic attempt at a disinterested look.

"So...nothing is going on with you and Pete?" she asked slowly.

"No for Gods sake," Allie snapped. "Like I told you...it was just a weird moment. And to be honest, its one I'd rather forget so let's go get thai food," she pasted a smile on her face and slapped Lara's behind, shoving her out into the hallway before she could ask anymore questions.

This was the best thing to do, just play it down. Because no matter how hard her heart was still pounding, no matter how much she wanted to slap Lara for bawling into the room right at that moment, no matter how badly she wanted to kiss Pete, to feel his hands on her...none of that would outweigh not having him in her life at all. And that was the risk with this. What if they were making a huge mistake? What if they let a few rogue hormones ruin a friendship they had spent seven years building? He was the man of her life and she would rather have him as a friend than not at all.

Tears stung her eyes as she followed Lara downstairs, ignoring the concerned glances the redhead was shooting her way as though reading Allie's mind and knowing that all of this was too little, too late. Like it or not, Allie Harding knew now that she was in love with Pete Dunham. And now she had to pretend she wasn't. As though everything was normal, which was doable. How much could change in a few hours anyway?

* * *

"Oi, watch it, you prick,"

Pete snapped at the faceless shadow who had barely brushed shoulders with him as he stalked purposefully along Staughton Road towards the Abbey; around him the night had begun to cool, making him realise that leaving his jacket at Allie's was a mistake.

Which is why he went back.

Which is why he had stopped upon hearing his name as he moved to pull himself back into the room.

And subsequtently heard Allie tell Lara that there was nothing between them, that the idea of kissing him made her ill and that it would never happen. She didn't think of him that way.

"Never have, never will," he muttered, echoing her words from earlier.

Coming to a stop in front of the doors, he closed his eyes and listened to the hum of activity drifting out into the cold from within. He could hear Steve's voice mixing with the rest of the boys laughter and the crackled sound of Stone Roses coming from the jukebox. Any other night it would have called to him like a siren but at this moment all he could think about was how stupid he was.

He had looked into her eyes tonight and really thought she wanted him, that he hadn't been kidding himself all these weeks, torturing himself with the idea of having her, of calling her his. He had thought she felt the same.

But she was revolted by it. And she should be, Christ knows she could do better than him. Their entire friendship was built on pity after all; add to that she was a nice girl, never one to hurt someone's feelings so of course she had let him make a complete arse of himself in her room. Now he'd have to fade back into just-mates mode and probably watch her go to university and meet some haughty prick who she could actually see herself with.

Images of Allie with a nameless man, in his arms, moaning his name assaulted his brain and Pete slammed his hands hard against the brick building, ignoring the tearing of his skin and the angry tears in his eyes as he turned on his heel and began to walk home. He couldn't go in there now. He needed to be alone, to work this out in his head. Allie didn't want him. And that was fine…he could live with that, as long as she was happy.

 _Oh get a fucking grip, you twat,_ his mind shouted at him _. Its her or nothing and if you can't have her, you honestly think you'll be able to watch her with some other bloke. Watch her kiss him or hug him, knowing he gets to see all the parts of her that only you know about, all the stupid little secrets, all the tiny stuff that used to be yours…it'll be his. And lets face it mate, that will fucking kill you._

Pete picked up his pace, the tears in his eyes blurring everything before him into one senseless dull glow until he smacked into something hard.

"Jesus!"

He blinked and stared down at the tuft of blonde hair as the barmaid from earlier clambered to her feet and looked at him as though he was insane.

"Shit," he muttered. "Uh...Kylie, ain't it? You alright?"

"Just about," she cocked her head, brushing some dirt from her skin tight, acid wash jeans. "What's gotten your dandies in a twist?"

Pete stared at her, wanting to tell her to mind her own fucking business but given he'd just knocked her to the ground, he figured he had to play the gentleman card for at least another 30 seconds befre he could continue storming off.

"Nothing," he told her. "I just don't really fancy bein' here," he gestured to the pub. "With this lot,"

Kylie nodded slowly, pulling her coat tighter around her body and eyeing him up and down. Fucking hell, her memory hadn't done the boy justice. He was gorgeous, his blue eyes dark and hard and emotionless.

"Well, I'm about to head home," she told him. "So if you wanted to go somewhere quiet…I could keep you company,"

Pete frowned at her outstretched hand, shaking his head ever so slightly. She wasn't Allie. Right now that was all he wanted, he wanted to go back to her room and kiss her, to have her tell him she didn't mean what she said, that she felt the same as he did.

But that wouldn't happen. She was his sustenance, his oxygen…the only thing in his life that had ever truly meant anything to him. And he…he was just her _mate_. Someone she might have the odd photo off when she got older but nothing more.

"Actually," Pete sniffed, blinking the tears back and meeting Kylie's eyes, a numbness filling him as he watched a smile spread across her face which was caked in far too much make up. "You know what…somewhere quiet sounds good." He forced himself to return her smile, it didn't do anything to him like Allie's did. "Let's go,"

* * *

 **That ending hurt me more than it will ever hurt you...make way for drama, angst and death. I did warn you this was taking a very different path to the WCHB universe. And here comes the first fork in the road. Or knife in the gut. However you want to look at it...:(**


	11. Voices of Reason

**No, you're not hallucinating...this is actually an update! I'm so sorry its taken too long, as crappy as an excuse at it is, life kind of got in the way as did Christmas etc so 2 months later than promised, here I am!**

 **Now, this chapter isn't exactly action central but it does introduce two WCHB and Intervals characters who God help me, I have sorely missed writing. Part two WILL be up tomorrow night without fail, thank you in the meantime to all those of you wonderful people who have been kind enough to leave reviews and send PM's, I really am sorry I've kept you waiting.**

 **Enjoy and make a gals day and leave a review. :) Love always, El xx**

* * *

1.07am.

Allie Harding stared at the vintage clock on her bedside table and continued gnawing at her bottom lip just as she had the past four hours since Pete had left her bedroom with the promise of returning later. She had no idea for what or why but she knew it was the reason she had kept on some of her make up instead of washing it off and chosen to sleep in a peachy coloured silk nightgown as opposed to her usual pj's. Just in case, as she had told herself over and over. Just in case Pete came back and they were alone, with the moonlight streaming through the blinds so all he would have to do is lean in and kiss her. Really bloody kiss her. Like a black and white movie, hair grabbing, breath stopping kind of kiss.

Lifting the covers, she glanced down at herself and chuckled quietly, rolling her eyes as she flung her legs off the side of the ginormous bed and upright.

"Ridiculous," she muttered, gesturing to her attire before ambling over to her dresser and reaching for a baby wipe which she promptly used to scrub her face until all traces of makeup were gone and she was left rosy cheeked.

Sighing deeply, she leaned back against the marble table top and cast her eyes to the balcony doors, seeking any sign of a figure in the darkness. Shaking her head and feeling more than a little stupid, Allie turned and headed towards her wardrobe, determined to pull on the fuzziest, frumpiest pyjamas she could find and possibly even going downstairs to retrieve one of the 5 pints of Ben and Jerry's Lara had 'stashed' away in the freezer for monthly emergencies.

Just as she reached her closet, a noise from the balcony made her heart stop; she knew that noise. It was someone climbing the trellises.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!" she hissed, rushing back to her bed and trying to work out how to look both alluring and unsuspecting at the same time. How did women in films make it look so god damn easy? Pulling the covers up her thigh and not much further, Allie lowered her head to the pillow, stopping only when a great thud –the unmistakable sound of one of her plants being knocked over- sounded through the room, breaking the peace around her.

Squinting into the distance, she caught sight of the intruder and her jaw dropped along with the covers and all femininity as she gawked openly at her visitor.

"You fuckin' rich people never cease to amaze me. House bigger than my entire fuckin' block of flats and you go leaving doors wide open at 1am. You never know who might come in…"

The figure slurred before taking a step forward and crumpling to the ground, a small bottle of vodka dropping from its thin fingers and rolling towards Allie's bed.

"Be a babe and grab me some orange juice, would ya? My mouth feels like I've eaten nothin' but cotton wool for four days. And skip the fuckin' lecture," the figure lifted a finger in warning. "It ain't nothin' I ain't heard before,"

Allie closed her eyes, forcing herself to remain calm as on queue as always, the figure went limp, falling into a neat heap on her bedroom floor. Hair askew, one shoe off and not to be seen, the sleeping sprite let out a small whistling sound with every breath not budging even when Allie grabbed its feet and began dragging it towards the bed. Hoisting them both onto the mattress, the blonde let out a grunt as she crashed down on top of what may as well have been a corpse, pulling back and raising both eyebrows when she met the all too familiar set of eyes.

"What the fuck are you wearing?" Natalie Dunham snorted, gesturing to Allie's nightgown before her jaw went slack and she passed out again leaving Allie sitting almost astride her in the darkness wondering what the hell she was supposed to do now.

* * *

"'Ave you ever seen Billy Elliot?"

Kylie Geller huffed, gritting her teeth as for the tenth time in as many minutes, Pete Dunham inadvertently crashed into the side of her, his feet carrying him in every direction but a straight line.

"No, I ain't," she snapped, digging in her purse for her flat keys. Ok, so this wasn't how she had planned on this scenario panning out; after they had drunk their way through twelve cans of cider in the park, she was certain that he would make a move. But he hadn't. All he had done was ramble on about the most pointless shit she had ever heard in her life.

"We should watch it," Pete told her, leaning forward and tapping her nose drunkenly until she batted his hand away. "It's fuckin' blinding. That little fucker can properly dance."

Rolling her eyes and not willing to get into another film orientated conversation like the one in the park where Pete had spent an hour explaining to her everything historically wrong with Braveheart, Kylie grabbed his hand and pulled him up the steps towards her flat. Turning, she leaned into him, pushing his back against the door across the hall and sending him her best 'come hither' look.

"What if I said I didn't want to watch a film?" she asked him, biting her lip.

"What, you wanna order pizza or somethin' because I'd be down for that," Pete slurred, trying to get his hand into his pocket to check for money but finding it difficult with her draped all over him. "Or PlayStation...please tell me you've got a PS2..."

"Mm-mm," Kylie shook her head, drumming her fingertips on his chest. "What I've got in mind is much more fun,"

"X-Box?" Pete frowned.

"Think more…active," she teased, standing on her tiptoes to get her lips closer to his. "Think less clothing,"

Pete blinked, staring down at this girl who was nothing but acid pink lip gloss, stale perfume and let's face it, probably a few STD's. He had no idea what the hell he was thinking coming here; truth be told he just wanted to be around someone who didn't know him, who didn't know Allie. Someone who could take his mind off everything.

But now as he stared down at Kylie, all he could think about was that if this was Allie with her hands on his chest, looking up into his eyes like that, he would be kissing her senseless right now, he'd be running his hands through his hair, whispering her name against her skin. With Kylie, he didn't even feel the urge. Worse than that, he actually found himself feeling sorry for her.

"I uh…" he laughed nervously and rubbed the back of his neck before gently removing her arms from around him. "I don't think that's the best idea either of us has ever had,"

"Well why don't you let me have a go at convincing you otherwise?" she licked her lips and pressed her hand against his stomach, letting it slide that little bit lower. "You won't be able to say no once I get my mouth on your-…"

"Sweetheart," Pete shook his head and met her eyes, the sadness in them making her seethe with anger.

The blonde stepped back as though he had slapped her, her mouth setting in a hard line and eyes turning to pure stone as she stared him down.

"You think you're too good for me, is that it?" she barked.

"Nah, nah of course not," Pete held up a finger, hating the fact the hallway was suddenly spinning. "Look, if you want the truth…there's someone…I just ain't looking for someone else,"

Kylie stared at him for a long moment, debating if her manicure was worth ruining for the sake of ripping his eyes out when suddenly it hit her and she found herself laughing mirthlessly.

"Hang about," she jutted her hip to one side. "You're telling me you came at me for some rebound action and now we're back here at my flat with me offering to do whatever the hell you want, you're not game?" she scoffed. "You queer or something?"

"I fuckin' wish," Pete slurred, banging his head back against the door behind him, not particularly thinking about the fact it was way past one in the morning and chances were the occupants were asleep. "I think I'm in love with my best mate,"

Kylie gawked at him, unable to believe that after a whole evening of texting the girls telling them she was going to get to shag Pete Dunham that he was knocking her back mere feet from her bed because he apparently had a heart.

" _Bovver_?" she spat.

Pete dropped his head down to his chest and let out something resembling a laugh whilst he flipped her the finger.

"Not that blonde bird who's always hanging off you?" Kylie bared her teeth in disgust. "The posh one with tits bigger than her IQ?"

"Hang on a fuckin' second," Pete narrowed his eyes. "Ain't no need for that, is there?"

"So what happened?" Kylie shot at him, ignoring the stern look he sent her way. "She finally realise that slumming it with the East London lot ain't as fun as My Fair Lady made it look and tell you to do one, did she?"

"She ain't like that," Pete snapped, getting more and more annoyed. Granted, he may have led her on but that hadn't been his intention. Kylie Geller was a borderline urban legend around this town, if you hadn't had a go then someone you knew likely had, not to mention she spent most of her youth mugging old people and spaced out of her mind on whatever pills were going in the Abbey that particular evening. She and Allie weren't even in the same stratosphere, let alone league.

"Well if you really think that," she goaded him. "Why are you stood here with me and not off riding into the sunset with her?"

Because she doesn't want me, Pete answered her silently. Because I love her more than anything else in my life and she sees me as her mate. And it's fucking killing me.

"Look," Pete pinched the bridge of his nose and hiccupped, grimacing at the taste and trying to recall when it was he had drunk Sambuca. "I know this situation ain't ideal for either of us but is there any chance I could crash on your sofa? I'll be gone before you get up in the morning,"

"Why don't you sleep in my bed?" she sent him that same grin again and he tried to smile back.

"Sofa's fine," he told her, trying to be gentle.

"Right, so we're not going to fuck then?" she asked pointedly.

"It don't look like it, nah," Pete shrugged, not bothering with pleasantries if she wasn't going to either.

"Arrogant prick," she snarled, reaching out and shoving his shoulder as hard as she could.

"You don't want to do that again," Pete warned her, holding up a finger. "Really…for both our sakes," he gulped. "Don't shove me,"

"Why?" Kylie cocked her head, painting a puppy like expression on her overly made up features. "Awww, poor little Petey. Didn't realise you were so fuckin' delicate. Are you sure it's another girl? I'm starting to get the impression maybe you just can't get it up,"

She shoved him hard again and his head smacked against the door, creating a louder crack than it had done previously. Pete's eyes widened as time around him seemed to slow completely, too many things occurring at once.

"What the fuck is goin' on out here?"

The voice boomed from behind him at the very same moment Kylie let out an ear piercing scream, not that Pete could see anything as he found himself falling backwards into the now open doorway, the light above him piercing his retinas and creating a blur around the two figures above him.

"You fucking bastard!" Kylie cried, her hands up in front of her face, shaking uncontrollably as she stared down in horror at the layer of vomit coating her jeans. "You know what? Get fucked. I ain't that desperate. My mate slept with your brother and if the gene pool is anything to go by, it'll be the size of my fuckin' pinkie finger anyway,"

Kylie scowled at him once more, turning on her heel and shouting "fucking queer" under her breath one last time before she yanked her own front door open and slammed it hard enough for Pete to feel the floor vibrate under his head.

Remembering where he was, he squinted up into the light and swallowed hard; whoever's doorway he was in was bound to be more than a little pissed off and if it came down to it, there was no way Pete would be able to square up against the bloke. He doubted he'd be able to wipe his own arse right at this second.

Opening his mouth and preparing to fire out the first of many apologies, Pete stopped when he heard the unmistakable sound of laughter coming from above him.

"Fuck me," the figure shook its head. "I've seen some shit in my time, but I've never seen a fella chunder his dinner up over a girl and shoot her down at the same time,"

Pete smirked, shaking his head and covering his eyes with his arm, unable to believe what had just happened. The boys would have a field day with this.

"I've 'ad better nights," he mumbled. "And I'll pay you for your carpet cleaning or whatever,"

"Wouldn't worry," the voice answered, the smirk still evident in it. "Ole' Zsa Zsa Gabour across the hallway took the brunt of it. You probably did her a favour…seeing most of the guys she brings back to that flat on a nightly basis, I'd say she's in dire need of a shower,"

Pete laughed harder ignoring the throbbing pain in the back of his head as he did so. Forcing himself into a sitting position, he opened his eyes slowly, jumping when he came face to face with a dark haired man, his eyes a piercing blue, slightly lighter than his own. His mouth was curled up into a genuine smirk, the Stone Roses t-shirt he was wearing letting Pete know if nothing else, he was in decent company.

"Benjamin," the man stuck his hand out, allowing Pete to shake it. "I'm guessing you have a name other than 'pinkie dick'?"

"Pete," he laughed heartily. "Dunham,"

"Yeeeeeah, I'm going to have to stick with pinkie dick," Benjamin deadpanned, grasping the blonde's hand and yanking him to his feet. "And to think people give us Scots shit about our life choices." He rubbed his jaw thoughtfully. "I thought London was going to be all sophisticated coffee houses and indie bands."

Pete grinned back at him, for some unknown reason already liking the guy; his flat unlike the rest of the building seemed clean cut, very metropolitan, the kind of place Allie would have a field day with.

"I'm really sorry, mate," he laughed. "Trust me to be the one to break the illusion of London's magic,"

"It had to happen sooner or later," Benjamin chuckled, shoving Pete back into the flat and closing the door, ignoring the other man's questioning gaze. "Look, you need somewhere to sleep and I have Chinese food in the kitchen and I'm mid-way through a FIFA tournament on the PS2 so you can either stand there in your own vomit or you can grab a beer and join me. I'm Chelsea so if you're not…"

"I'm a Hammers man," Pete shook his head, returning the Scots' look of disgust. "And just for that, I'd rather sleep on the fuckin' street,"

"Aye, watch it now, Pinkie Dick," Benjamin laughed, leading him to the kitchen and handing him a carton of noodles along with a beer. "You've just narrowly escaped death by chlamydia, you don't really want to spoil that victory by getting shanked with a chopstick by a Scotsman, do you?"

"Fuck off," Pete laughed, digging into the noodles with gusto. "Aw mate, you're a fuckin' hero for this."

"That I am, brother, that I am," he winked, walking down the hallway towards the living room and gesturing for Pete to follow. "Now how's about a little story time while I kick your sorry arse, because personally, I am dying to know the backstory behind the train wreck that is apparently your love life…"

"Fuck me," Pete called after him. "You sure?"

"Absolutely, brother," Benjamin laughed. "How bad can it be?"

* * *

"May God have mercy on your soul," Benjamin whistled, staring down at the photo Pete had handed him. It had taken nearly two hours of FIFA and some dicey re-heated shredded duck before they had finally sat down and begun talking. The move from Edinburgh had brought with it a lot of worries for him, he'd left his friends, his family and the joy of deep friend mars bars to come to university in London but for someone so outgoing, he'd felt strangely alone since he arrived.

Truth be told, Pete Dunham was the first person he'd actually felt a connection with; maybe it was just their age or the same obsession with the beautiful game and inability to hold their beer but they were kindred spirits.

Right down to their taste in women because the blonde staring back at him was probably the most gorgeous thing he'd ever seen.

"Fuckin' tell me about it," Pete shook his head, draining the last of his beer and throwing it to one side before reaching for another. "Try growing up with that around you,"

"Puberty is a wonderful thing, Petey pie," Benjamin breathed, handing the photo back to him and leaning back against the sofa where they sat on the floor. "So clarify for me again why you haven't made a move?"

"I did," Pete muttered. "I told you,"

"No, you told me you almost, kind of, nearly went in for some lip action," the dark haired man frowned. "That's fuckin' miles away from making a move,"

"Well what would you have done?" Pete burst out, exasperatedly.

"To her?" Benjamin pointed at the photo on Pete's lap. "Things I'm not certain are legal,"

The blonde shook his head and flipped him off, reaching for another spring roll and crunching down on it noisily.

"She doesn't see me that way," he shrugged, trying to play it as though it wasn't crushing his insides to say the words out loud. "I heard her say it,"

"And you're sure about that?" Benjamin narrowed his eyes.

"She didn't know I was there," he sighed, rubbing the back of his head tiredly. "So she wasn't exactly sugar coating it,"

Pete threw his head back, staring up at the ceiling and taking a deep breath; he knew how pathetic this all was. They'd been friends for years and for whatever reason out of the blue, a few months ago something had changed. It wasn't that he'd suddenly noticed how beautiful she was, he'd always known that. It was that suddenly he couldn't go a day without seeing her, her touch started doing different things to him, he wanted to be around her all the time, to hear her stories, to listen to her rant about some article she'd read in Vogue. Anything. As long as he was with her.

"What was the moment?"

Benjamin's voice jerked him back to reality and he lifted his head, meeting the man's steady gaze and frowning in confusion.

"There's always a moment, Petey," he smiled. "When you knew…"

Pete blinked, knowing exactly what he was referring to and more worryingly, knowing exactly which moment he was talking about.

"Her thirteenth birthday party…she had a joint party with her best mate," he smirked. "Lara loves 'er swanky parties and shit but Allie….she's never been about that. And true to form, Lara throws this fuckin' massive shindig. Hired some manor house outside of the city, at least 100 kids at this thing all in fuckin' black tie." He laughed, remembering how ridiculous they had all felt, him, Bovver, Dave and Swill crammed into the back of Steve's ford cabriolet in their tuxes. "And its shit; when you're 13 all you want is some domino's pizza, some legend to rock up with a bottle of their dad's best vodka and maybe some tunes. Anyway, Allie walks in in this…fuckin' dress."

He smiled to himself, remembering how nervous she had been about wearing it given her body had advanced slightly more than some of the other girls. "And she looked amazing. Like nothin' I'd ever seen. And midway through the night she comes over and grabs me, begs me to go outside, she's goin' mad in this place. Everyone's bored as fuck and she's 'ad enough." He laughed. "So I followed 'er and we walked the whole way around this place, fuckin' miles. And we come across this swimming pool, cordoned off and just beggin' for it,"

Benjamin laughed, catching the glow in his newfound friends' eyes and feeling almost envious that someone could be so in love.

"She kicks 'er shoes off and just jumps in. Doesn't give a shit about her hair or her makeup, just dives in. And of course I fuckin' end up in there with her about a second later when she swims to the edge and grabs my foot. Now 'er birthday might be in June but this water was fuckin' arctic. I mean I screamed like a right little bitch when I went in. But we must've spent an hour in it, pissing about and looking up at the sky. Until one of the guards starts running up, shouting at us to get out, so I grab her and get out and start running. Scared shitless, we end up hiding in a fuckin' woodshed, both of us on the verge of getting hypothermia and dyin' but I couldn't give a shit. Because she's sat there with this blanket around 'er, head against my shoulder while we yap on about everything and anything and there's this moment where in the middle of talking, she reaches out and pulls some a leaf or some shit out of my hair and I honest to fuck thought my heart stopped." Pete shook his head. "She was looking at me, only light in the whole fuckin' place comin' from some poxy lantern we'd found but I could see 'er. I could see every little fleck of gold in 'er eyes and I knew in that one fuckin' second." He breathed.

"I was in love with 'er,"

Benjamin let out a long, deep breath and leaned forward, shaking his head gently.

"You, brother, are well and truly fucked," he pointed at him, laughing when the blonde dropped his head into his hands and groaned.

"Mate, I know," Pete half laughed, half sobbed. "But what the fuck do I do about it?"

Holding up a finger, Benjamin stumbled to his feet, grabbing his as of yet unopened bottle of scotch from the mantle and holding it up like a trophy.

"What we do, Petey pie, is we drink," he grinned, uncapping it and pouring a tumbler half full before handing it to Pete who eyed it warily. "To loneliness and narrowly escaping herpes," he cheered.

"I've 'ad worse reasons to drink," Pete toasted him, taking a huge gulp and feeling the amber liquid set a slow fire to his throat as it travelled down to his gut.

Shuddering at the bitterness, he leaned back, frowning when his phone began buzzing once more in his back pocket. He had been ignoring it all night, knowing damn well it was Bovver trying to get him down the Abbey, or worse it was Steve.

Groaning loudly when he noted the name on the screen was that of the latter, Pete knocked back the rest of the whiskey and flipped the phone open, bracing himself for the onslaught.

Benjamin watched the blonde as he rolled his eyes and mouthed 'brother' to him before lifting his hand and making a yapping motion; remembering what a pain in the arse Chris could be, Benjamin laughed and nodded. It was just as he was reaching down to refill Pete's glass that he saw the young man's face change completely, his eyes taking on a clarity that had been absent at least the last two hours.

Pete swallowed hard, looking up at Benjamin as he closed the phone and clambered to his feet.

"You ok, brother?" Benjamin frowned.

"Fancy getting a cab and coming on a cheeky joy ride with me?" he gritted his teeth, his stomach torn between worry and fury.

"Whatever you need," the Scot nodded, trying not to think about the fact it was going on 4am and his body was craving sleep.

"Good lad," Pete clapped him on the shoulder as they made their way towards the door. "I owe ya,"

"This have something to do with your lady?" Benjamin quipped, trying to break the newfound tension.

"Not exactly," Pete snorted. "Wrong girl."

He yanked the front door open and stepped out into the foyer, grimacing as the stench of what he knew was his own vomit hit him and he made a mental note to send Kylie some flowers or at least £20.00 to cover her dry cleaning bill. Stepping out into the chilly night air, he chatted idly with Benjamin, both of them keeping an eye out for any taxi's that drove past though none of them seemed keen to stop, his hands shaking as he shoved them into his pockets for warmth and the words _'Natalie is missing'_ still echoing through his brain.

* * *

 **TBC in 24 hours...**


	12. Sunday Morning

**Sorry guys, I know this is day later than promised. I did a lot of re-writing with this chapter as the influx of Natalie hatred was waaaaaaaaaaay more than what I had been bracing myself for so I'll be honest with you, I re-wrote this to limit her presence in this chapter. That's not me dismissing your feedback, you guys know reviews and constructive criticism from people who have followed my work for nearly 9 years now(!) means the actual world. You have no idea how much of a skippity jump (medical term) my heart does when I see reviews come through so thank you thank you thank you times a million.**

 **Read, hopefully enjoy and please review. Those of you who have waited patiently for 11 chapters for the Pallie express to come in...brace yourselves.**

* * *

"And pissing well stay out!"

Benjamin glanced up from his steaming cup of watery coffee just in time to see Pete Dunham stumbling backward down the steps of Vauxhall Youth Centre, a woman easily in her seventies waving a shaking finger at him.

"Absolutely vile!"

"Christ alive, alright love!" the blonde shouted back, shaking his head as the chipped and beaten green door slammed hard enough to shake the railings either side of the steps. "I thought you lot were supposed to help the needy,"

"Yeah, the _needy_ , not the fuckin' desperate," Benjamin snorted, pulling a second cup of coffee from the wall behind his back and handing it to him. "No luck?"

"Nah," Pete breathed, nodding his thanks and taking a long sip. "Mate, I can't think of anywhere else she'd be,"

Sighing, he glanced behind him at the river, watching as the early morning rays of sunlight gently kissed its surface, turning the usually brown, murky water of the Thames a thousand colours. There was a mist in the air that promised warmth, the first day of what would likely be England's token week of summer. He and Benjamin had been wandering around the city since 3am and it was now nearly 7…and still no sign of Natalie Dunham.

"Should we call the police?" Benjamin asked, having avoided the question for most of the morning.

"Nah," Pete shook his head vehemently. "I bet my arse she's face down on a park bench somewhere. We just 'ave to find her before her mum does,"

"And this is a habit of hers, huh?" the Scot asked quietly, trying to remember if he had been such a liability at the age of sixteen.

"I love the girl like a sister," Pete scoffed. "But she's a fuckin' liability if ever there was one. Its nothin' to write home about, she's a good girl in the wrong crowd but fuck me….she ain't one from learning from her mistakes."

Benjamin nodded, thinking instantly of Chris and understanding completely. As much as he loved his brother, the kid spent half his life begging for Benjamin to beat the shit out of him. All bollocks and no common sense: that was Chris Ellis.

"Your hangover kickin' in yet?" he asked, wanting to break the tension and succeeding when a smirk instantly appeared on Pete's face.

"Mate, I can't even begin to explain to ya how fuckin' rough I feel," he sniffed at the air and let out a long breath.

"If its half as bad as you smell then I might have an idea," Benjamin grimaced, gesturing to Pete's sweater which was still covered in dried vomit.

"Oh fuck," Pete stopped suddenly, looking down at himself and shaking his head. "No wonder that old dear was beating me out of the fuckin' door with a broom."

"Aye," the dark haired man raised an eyebrow. "Don't suppose you thought to wear a t-shirt underneath?"

"No, _mum_ ," Pete chuckled. "Fuckin' ell."

"What?" Benjamin exclaimed. "I'm Scottish. We always dress like winter is coming and death is imminent. I'm wearing about 8 fuckin' layers right now,"

"Well then share the love, you cheeky bitch," Pete laughed, shoving him and almost spilling his coffee.

Flipping him the finger in response, Benjamin stopped to take a leisurely sip of coffee, a smirk that instantly made Pete feel uneasy spreading over his features.

"I may have a better solution, brother," he grinned. "One that doesn't involve me getting done for public indecency and having my clothes end up smelling of your chunder, sweat and shame,"

Turning slowly and following the direction in which Benjamin was pointing, Pete let out a short, hard laugh and turned back to face his friend.

"Fuck off, you absolute cunt," he choked out.

"Petey pie, no one is going to help us if we're stumbling along the Thames looking like a youth theatre cast of Trainspotting," Benjamin nodded. "Find your balls, go over there and get one,"

"Ellis, I don't care if we end up walking to fuckin' Canada," Pete shook his head, his blue eyes narrowed and hard. "I ain't wearing that. So. Go. Fuck. Yourself,"

...

 _"Aye, aye, darlin'! Give us a twirl!"_

"How's about you fuck off?" Pete shouted, glaring at the bin men hanging off the back of their truck, their day clearly made as they doubled over with laughter, one of the bastards even getting his phone out to take a picture. Feeling Benjamin shaking next to him, Pete snapped his head around and shoved him hard.

"Somethin' funny, you shit?" he demanded.

"Not at all, brother," Benjamin shook his head, wiping a tear from his eye as he continued to chuckle, his laughter turning into a full blown bellow as Pete took a few steps in front of him.

It had taken exactly eight minutes, one not so playful shove, enough swear words to make Tarantino blush and £25.00 of Benjamin Ellis' money but here they were walking down Lambeth North just two eighteen year old guys one of which happened to be wearing a " _Backstreet's Back, Alright_!" t-shirt with " _I heart Nick_ " written on the back of it.

"I actually preferred smelling of vomit," Pete mumbled, forcing himself not to look down. It was bad enough the guy who sold it to them from his cart who spoke no English had pissed himself when Pete had asked him for it but the fact someone might potentially see the nephew of Pat Dunham walking through London in a Backstreet Boys t shirt was something he would honest to God never live down.

"At least you went with the white one," Benjamin coughed, his stomach starting to ache. "It brings out your eyes,"

"I fuckin' knew you was trouble," Pete shoved him, unable to help the laugh that spilled from his own mouth as the Scotsman only laughed harder. "I should 'ave just puked on your floor, beat the shit out of ya, stolen your beer and been done with it,"

"You kiss your mother with that mouth?" Benjamin feigned offense as he clasped his chest in outrage.

"Nah mate, just yours," Pete smirked.

"Cheap shot," the Scot laughed. "Come on, beautiful, turn that frown upside down. Things could be much worse,"

Pete rolled his eyes as they turned the corner, letting out a grunt when he accidentally brushed shoulders with another man.

"Easy sunshine," Pete clapped him on the back, moving around him and stopping only when he heard an all too familiar bout of laughter.

 **Oh for fuck sake.**

"What in fucks name 'appened to you?" Bovver just about managed to choke out as he clasped his stomach and attempted to take another pull of his cigarette, stopping only when he found himself unable to actually catch his breath long enough to inhale.

Before Pete could answer, Bovver stuck two fingers into his mouth and whistled, still laughing as he did so. Not needing to turn around to know that the rest of the boys were on their way over, he merely dropped his head down to his chest and sighed. It was either too early or too late for all this shit, his body didn't know which anymore.

"Aye, aye!" Dave called, jogging over to what he could see was Bovver, Pete and a guy he'd never seen before. "Mate, Steve mentioned he 'ad you on the case n'all," he sniffed, coming to a stop and shoving his hands into his pockets. "You have any lucking finding 'er or shall we just piss off h-…"

He stopped and Pete watched as his eyes widened, highlighting the little indented scar above his eyebrow where Swill had accidentally hit him with a golf club last Christmas when they broke onto the driving range near Allie's house.

"Don't. Say. A. Fuckin'. Word," Pete spat, clenching his fists.

"Mate, I don't know what the fuck _to_ say," Dave shook his head. "I always had you pegged as more of a Hanson fan,"

"Alright," Swill mumbled, coming to a stop next to them all and popping a cigarette into the corner of his mouth.

They all stared at him as he glanced about the circle, his eyes narrowed in concentration as he dug around in his pocket for a lighter.

"Really?" Pete shrugged emphatically. "You of all fuckin' people are stayin' schtum about this?"

"About what?" Swill froze.

Pete gestured to himself and watched as something of a light appeared behind his friends eyes.

"Oh yeah," Swill frowned, gesturing to Benjamin. "Who's this cunt?"

"Christ," Pete laughed, pinching the bridge of his nose and letting his laughter get lost in the fray of the others. "I'd say at least you've got your looks but that ain't exactly a consolation prize, is it you fuck?"

"I'm still better looking than that thing you took home last night," Swill reached out and slapped him playfully. "Absolute filth."

Pete's eyes widened and he stared around at his friends, wondering what the hell they knew that he didn't. It had only been a matter of hours since Kylie-gate, how the hell had word gotten out?

"Who gave you that golden nugget of wisdom?" Pete frowned, ignoring the panic in his veins as he briefly wondered if there was any way this had gotten back to Allie.

"Who else?" Dave snorted. "My little shit of a brother is going out with one of her mates. Apparently she was texting the 'ole of East London and their mother last night goin' on about how you were back at hers swapping fluids,"

"Jesus Christ," Bovver cried, a look of utter repulsion on his face as he held up his coffee to signal that he was drinking. "That ain't what I need to hear,"

"Its bollocks n'all," Pete rolled his eyes.

"Oh I don't know about that, brother," Benjamin piped up, unable to help himself. "Think its safe to say she needed a wipe down when you were done with her,"

Pete dropped his head into his hands and laughed, successfully avoiding the stares of his friends.

"Oh you nasty bastard," Swill scrunched up his nose. "How desperate can you be?"

"Nothin' happened," Pete snapped, his voice muffled by his hands.

"But he just said…"

"I fuckin' know what he said," the blonde looked up, scrubbing his face with his hands and looking up at the sky for a short moment before meeting their eyes.

"I chucked my guts on her,"

All three men simply stared at him for a long moment, slow, deliberate grins spreading across their faces as the reality of what Pete had just said sank in.

"Oh mate," Swill shook his head. "Repeat that for me?"

"She 'ad me against the door, tryna get my fuckin' jeans off and in the middle of shovin' her away," Pete sighed. "I threw up on 'er,"

The laughter that filled the air for the next minute solid was loud enough to wake a few people, of that much Pete Dunham was certain.

"And that," he spoke loudly, trying to get them to shut up. "Is where this prick comes into the picture?"

"You were the consolation prize, were ya?" Dave laughed, wiping a tear from his eye.

"He fuckin' wishes," Benjamin smirked. "He fell into my flat with her screaming at him like a fuckin' banshee and being the good Samaritan that I am, I took him in, gave him food and beer," he grinned and clapped Pete on the shoulder. "Even treated him to this little number this morning,"

"You," Bovver laughed. "Are a fuckin' hero," he stuck his hand out in an extremely un-Bovver like gesture. "Name's Bov,"

"Benjamin," the Scot replied, shaking his hand and following suit with the rest.

"Yeah, alright." Pete took a last gulp of coffee and threw the cup into the hedge behind him. "If you lot are all done swapping numbers and planning sleepovers, we've got bigger problems than my close call with the clap," he raised an eyebrow. "You lot find Natalie or what?"

"Nada," Dave shrugged. "We tried all the usual haunts but we ain't got…"

"Well there is one place we ain't looked," Swill interrupted, a twinkle in his eye as he looked directly at Pete. "Anyone tried Harding yet?"

Pete felt his stomach clench and instantly regretted not dedicating his life to religion; if he had there might be more of a solid chance that someone was listening to his prayers to be struck down dead.

"She won't be there," Pete mumbled.

"Harding?" Benjamin frowned, then raised his eyebrows. "As in your girl Harding?"

"Allie ain't that," he snapped. "I reckon we established that last night, don't you?"

"Ah, you know n'all, do ya?" Bovver pursed his lips, eyeing up the Scotsman warily. "Welcome to the eternal bullshit that is Pete and Allie dancing around the fact they want to get their leg over,"

"I'm too sober for this," Pete whispered, rubbing his temples slowly.

"'ere, don't Allie's folks 'ave a wine cellar?" Swill shrugged. "If you feel like you're too sober, maybe we should head to hers and see what we can do about that,"

"You lot are getting on my tits," Pete grumbled, wanting to go anywhere but there. He couldn't face her after what happened last night. How was he supposed to look at her knowing that he had almost kissed her, completely blown it and then found out that she only saw him as a mate? Sod it, maybe they did need to stock up on the wine first. "I ain't goin' there dressed like this,"

"Oh cut it out, you tart," Benjamin smirked. "From I what I gather she's a top lass. She won't care what you're wearing. Or who you are…where you're from…as long as you love her,"

"I will hand on heart make sure they never find your body," Pete told him deadpanned as the rest of the boys collapsed into laughter once again.

"Come on, lover boy," Dave shouted. "My motor is around the corner, let's see if we can find ourselves a street urchin and get you a nice girl to vomit over while we're at it,"

Following their laughter down the street, Pete shook his head, hating himself for laughing along with them but unable to help it. He had to face her whether he liked it or not, all he could do now was pray he survived it.

* * *

It was the gentle clanking of cutlery and glass that woke Allie Harding. Desperately attempting to unfurl her body from the foetal position where she had been forced to sleep on her chez lounge, she blinked twice into the barely there sunlight and raised an eyebrow as she watch Natalie Dunham tip toeing about the room, gently pushing various bottles of perfume and potions to the side on her dresser so she could slip the tray down onto it, spilling just a drop of orange juice as she did so.

"The last time you brought me breakfast, it was a half-eaten McMuffin and a Ribena carton with no straw," she mumbled, her voice still thick with sleep but loud enough to startle the brunette a few feet away from her.

"Yeah well," Natalie shrugged somewhat bashfully. "Last time I didn't scale your house at 1am and kick you outta your own bed,"

Laughing, Allie sat up slowly, rubbing the soreness out of her neck as she yawned.

"What time is it?"

"Just gone eight," Natalie squinted at the clock before leaning back against the vanity and gesturing to the tray. "Don't let it go cold,"

Raising her eyebrows in shock, Allie leaned forward, biting her lip to keep from smiling when she saw the bowl of coco pops, slice of blackened toast barely disguised by an immense layer of jam and a mug of hot chocolate.

"That toast looks as though you cooked it in the fires of the underworld," Allie smirked. "I could probably go to uni and graduate and it would still be at least luke warm,"

"Well if you're gonna be a bitch about it," Natalie huffed, wondering why the hell she had ever let her cousin convince her the blonde elf was anything but a pain in the arse.

Truth be told, despite their backgrounds, Natalie and Allie had hit it off straight away. Natalie had been sick of being the only girl in the Dunham army and aside from her pain in the arse red head mate, Natalie had taken to Allie quicker than most people thought she would. It helped that whilst Pete would come down on her like a ton of bricks every time she messed up, Allie would at least listen to her side of the story.

Also it helped that she came from a family with more money that God.

"Oh stop pouting," the blonde grinned, picking up the piece of toast and biting into it with gusto.

"Haffy?" she mumbled with her mouth full.

"Ecstatic," Natalie rolled her eyes, casting a glance out onto the balcony where the remnants of one of Allie's plant pots still lay.

"So what was last night in aid of?" Allie asked once she had forced the unholy union of burnt bread and thick jam down her gullet.

"It was a Saturday," she shrugged as though that was enough of an explanation.

Allie frowned but didn't say anything; she knew how hard Natalie had it. They didn't need to talk about it openly for Allie to understand that her family had no money, that she had no hope of getting into university and even if she did, had no intention of putting her intellect to good use. Natalie had been dealt a rough hand and whilst others would rally against it, her attitude had been to flip the finger to the world and go on a lifelong bender as a 'fuck you, too' to the powers that be.

"Did you take anything?"

The question wasn't exactly unexpected but it still stung like hell. Only two people knew about her dabble with ecstasy last year: one being paramedic who had dutifully rolled her onto her side when she was vomiting and shoved every needle and vitamin under the sun into her veins.

The other one was sat right in front of her.

"Harding, my head is banging around 260bpm right now," Natalie shook her head. "I really ain't in the mood for this argument,"

"Who's arguing?" Allie shrugged, taking a sip of hot chocolate. "I'm not asking so I can take notes or tell anyone. I just want to know,"

"Why?" she snorted. "Decided you've got room for one more on your Help A Dunham charity program?"

"Now who's being a bitch?" Allie raised an eyebrow, not letting the hurt show on her face even though deep down, those words hurt like hell. Natalie knew better than anyone that she had never seen Pete as less than her and whilst yes, her family had helped his in a lot of ways, it had more than been reciprocated. They were friends, not carers.

Yeah right, her brain snorted at her. Friends.

Not wanting to get into that right now, Allie shook her head as though physically trying to remove the annoying voice from her mind and brushed some crumbs off of her pyjama bottoms before walking over to Natalie and gently placing her hands on her shoulders.

"Please, Nat?" she half whispered. "Just bloody tell me."

The response caused her insides to go cold and she allowed herself the luxury of briefly closing her eyes.

"Just pills?" she whispered.

Allie's bright green eyes darted down to Natalie's arms so fast that she almost didn't notice; but she did. And it broke her heart.

"I told you I would never touch needles," she whispered back. "I promised you,"

"I know," Allie nodded, gently pushing her hair away from her face. "I know you did. And I'm not saying I don't believe you. I just needed to check, to make sure you were ok. You understand that, right?"

"Harding, your parents were hippies," she snorted, trying to bring some light back into the room. "If there's anyone you should be doing a drug screen on…"

"My mother was an animal rights activist who spent her time getting arrested for jumping over the Downing Street barrier and saving whales and children," she giggled. "And my dad openly admitted he only got into law because he wants an OBE. They're yuppie sell outs who thought hash brownies were as hard-core as it got."

"I'll have you know I saved at _least_ three whales in my time," Poppy Harding's voice echoed around the room. "I spent half a months' wages going out to SeaWorld to petition against that weird film about the boy and the whale who form that homoerotic Bates motel-esque friendship. The one your brother thought was a legitimate porno and was devastated when we brought it home from Blockbuster,"

"Free Willy," Allie giggled, shaking her head at the memory of Harry running through the house shouting _'it's actually about a fucking whale_?!'.

Natalie turned to look at the woman who was basically Allie with an extra 20 years on her. Poppy Harding was and always had been since the first time Natalie had met her, a movie star. Even now, she had clearly just woken up but there she was all silk robes and pearl earrings, gleaming eyes and cherry lips. The kind of woman you so desperately wanted to hate but the moment she spoke you were hooked.

"I found the cat dragging this through the flower bed," Poppy held up a ragged ballet pump and Allie laughed at the blush that covered Natalie's whole face. "Figured the owner had to be in the house somewhere."

"Y'know normal people tend to call the pigs if they find someone's shoe under a window in the garden of their mansion," Natalie rolled her eyes.

" _Normal_ people don't find it par for the course to wake up with a Dunham of some variety in their home," she smirked with a wink. "Which reminds me, give my love to your mum. She missed lunch with me and Moira last week. Again,"

Natalie sent something of an apologetic smile her way but it was hard to keep it when she remembered the reason her mother hadn't gone was down to the fact they had no electricity or hot water and she hadn't been able to have a bath for six days.

"Oh and darling?" Poppy narrowed her eyes at Allie. "Your birthday came early, there's five burly men downstairs looking for you,"

Frowning at her mother as though she was mad, she quickly felt her heart leap then drop when she realised who she was likely referring to.

"Oh shit,"

"Indeed," Poppy took a sip of tea and smiled. "I have to say, Pete looks quite dashing with short hair,"

Allie narrowed her eyes and pointed to the door, not letting a shred of humour show in her eyes.

"Get out," she snapped.

"Oh darling, have I upset you?" Poppy feigned alarm. "I'm so sorry, I had no idea it was such a touchy subject,"

"Maybe if it got touchy, they'd both stop moping around like bitches," Natalie muttered, seemingly forgetting who she was talking in front of then frowning when the blonde gave out a hearty laugh.

"I agree with Natalie," Poppy pointed at her. "Whole heartedly. See, its _not_ just your mother who thinks you should wake up and smell the puberty,"

"I honest to God hope I'm adopted," Allie groaned, giving up on elegance and trying to physically force her mother out of the door. "There must have been a mistake,"

"You'd make such gorgeous babies," Poppy giggled as her daughter wrapped her arms around her waist and pulled her out into the hallway. "Natalie, back me up on this!"

"You're supposed to be my mother," Allie laughed, playfully slapping her arm. "You're supposed to help me through emotional turmoil, not bloody cause it!"

Downstairs she could hear her father laughing, his voice booming and loud, mixing with a few she recognised just as well. There was only one missing…the one that had the ability to make her heart stop.

"Alright, Harding?"

And there it was. Her heart began to pound thick and fast in her chest, her hands which had immediately begun pooling with sweat relinquishing their hold on her mother as she stood up straight, suddenly wishing she hadn't changed into her Seth Cohen is My Homeboy t-shirt and flannel shorts and kept the peachy coloured slip. Not that it would matter. Clearly he didn't feel all that much for her or let's face it, he would have come back last night. Turning to meet his eyes, Allie felt her breath catch; Christ, he was gorgeous. Like old movie star, catch me when I fall, tear me off a chunk of that kind of gorgeous. Even in a…

" _Is that a Backstreet Boys shirt_?" she frowned, looking at him as though he was crazy.

"It's a really long fuckin' story is what it is," he chuckled, rubbing his jaw tiredly before his eyes sought out hers once more. "Nat's here then I take it?"

"In there," Allie jerked her chin towards her bedroom. "Probably trying to scrub cat crap off of one of her shoes,"

Pete cocked his head and she giggled, the noise resonating in his chest along with other parts of his body as he resisted the urge to let his eyes slip down her body. Really? All the clothes the girl owns and she had to wear the tiniest shorts known to man?

"Don't ask," she advised him.

"Laugh it up, blondie, I'm using your toothbrush to get this off!" the girl in question shouted from the bedroom, too happy to tuck into the bowl of coco pops and T4 marathon to care what was going on in the hallway.

"Well if she's alright, I guess I can leave you to it," Pete smiled tightly, giving Allie a nod that felt way too much like a goodbye.

Panic filled her and she looked about the hallway frantically as he turned and headed back towards the grand staircase. Catching her mother's eye from where Poppy was poking her head around the door mouthing something that looked suspiciously like 'Are you shitting crazy? Stop him!'

"You didn't come back last night,"

Pete froze, his body which upon hearing Natalie was safe and well had started to shut down, allowing him to recover from a whole night of drinking, revving itself back to life as her gentle voice enveloped him.

He didn't turn around, partly because he didn't know what to say and partly because looking at her right now would probably destroy him.

"Pete," she pushed.

 **Fuck**.

That name on those lips had never been anything short of a weapon. From the first day she said it until this moment right now, there was nothing he could deny her when she asked him for it. Nothing.

"I waited for you," Allie swallowed hard, not sure where she was going with this but willing to just enjoy the out of body experience. She would deal with the fall out later, all she knew is that she couldn't let him leave. Not without knowing what had changed. "I wanted you to…"

"To what?" Pete asked her, turning to face her once more.

Their eyes met and for whatever reason, Allie felt hers sting with tears; he was looking at her like he didn't know her.

"To come back so we could watch films all night? Take the piss out of each other playing PlayStation? Order a shit ton of pizza and have you fight me for the last piece? What?"

"What's…" Allie cringed when her voice trembled and broke so cleared her throat and began again. "What's wrong with that?"

"Nothin'," Pete shrugged. "Nothin's wrong with it." He smiled tightly. Brokenly. "That's what mates do, ain't it?"

"Ok," Allie spoke slowly, not trusting her voice anymore. The way he was speaking to her, the way he was looking at her, looking through her, was honest to God breaking her inside. Maybe she read it wrong. Maybe it was all wrong. "I'll see you later then, I guess?"

Pete blinked at her, the laughter coming from his mouth surprising them both as he shook his head in amazement.

"That's it?" he frowned. "The girl who's nearly 'ad my eye out over the battle for the last Pringle in the can is bowing out with 'I'll see you later'?"

"Christ, are you having a stroke or something?" Allie snapped at him, the same fire he knew coming back into her eyes and making him smirk. This Allie he could handle. "I don't know what crawled up your arse and died in the last eight hours but it's got fuck all to do with me so go or stay. Your choice."

"My choice?" Pete pointed to himself and lifted an eyebrow, smirking at her.

Fuck she hated how good he looked when he did that.

"Yes,"

"You think I 'ave a choice here?" he cocked his head.

"What are you the fucking Riddler?" she cried. "Yes, you have a choice. I know you came her to see if Natalie was…"

"I didn't come 'ere for that," he snorted. "And as for me having a choice…don't make me laugh, Harding. I ain't had a choice in seven years,"

Allie opened her mouth to shout at him, her temper on its last legs when he shook his head at her, stopping her in her tracks. Something changed in his eyes, the coldness and defensiveness slipping away from the bright blue orbs she knew so well as Pete let out a laugh and dropped his hands to his sides with a loud smack.

"You still don't get it do ya?" he shook his head. "I don't have a choice in any of this. See my fate was sealed a long fuckin' time ago." He took a step towards her but daren't let himself go any closer for fear of losing control. If this backfired, he needed time to run.

"Because I am gone with the wind, utterly fucked, balls to the wall in love with you."

He watched as her peachy coloured lips, the same lips that had been a hairs breath from his last night, parted as her jaw fell open. Downstairs, the noise coming from the boys stopped dead, the faint sound of a cup smashing and Swill muttering "well fuck me," drifting up the stairs.

"You…" Allie spoke slowly as though suddenly she had lost all concept of the English language.

"I'm in love with you," Pete shrugged. "And its shit. Because I don't have a choice in it. So it ain't about staying or going. I hate the fact you don't see me that way; I hate the fact I know by spouting all this bullshit I'm ruining the best friendship I ever had. I hate that I'll probably still see you every now and then and one day you'll be with a bloke and I'll have to do everything in my power not to beat the shit out of him because honest to fuck, the guy could cure cancer and I'd still hate him. I hate that I didn't kiss you last night and I really fuckin' hate that I can't kiss you now."

Pete looked down at his hands and laughed sadly, knowing that in the grand scheme of things, this would likely be the last time he saw her, for a long while at least.

"So tell me I'm embarrassing myself, tell me I'm a twat," he met her eyes once last time and tried to memorise as much as he could about them; the different shades of green and the gold flecks around the iris. Her long dark lashes sparkling with what he knew were tears. She was beautiful.

"But don't tell me I 'ave a choice," he turned and started on the stairs, leaving Allie staring after him desperately, shaking her head slowly as she tried to process what the hell had just happened and what she could do to fix it.

* * *

 **So the worst kept secret in fanfiction is out. Pete Loves Allie. I'll have part 3 up by Sunday as to leave it here would be a level of evil that even I'm not capable of. And we all know I'm capable of evil...see previous stories ;)**


	13. Under The Willows

**Never say I'm not a woman of my word. Ladies and gentlemen, its Sunday. Here...is part 3.**

* * *

If you counted from the very top, there were 43 steps on the Harding family home staircase. The seventh step down creaked somewhat and if you looked really closely at the fourth from the bottom, you could see a chip missing from the old oak where Harry had fallen down them –luckily with a helmet on- trying to prove to his siblings that he could indeed slide down them on snow board eleven years earlier.

They were tiny details, ones that most people would miss. But for Pete Dunham who had refused to let his eyes leave the floor since telling Allie Harding he was in love with her, these were details that would be engrained into his mind until the day he died.

The usually short journey down into the large foyer seemed to take forever, the space of time made larger by the fact that at the stop of the stairs, the girl in question was still silent and unmoving.

Letting him walk away.

Stepping into the kitchen, he stopped dead and took a deep breath in as he was greeted by a very shocked audience. Bovver was staring at him as though he had suddenly grown two heads, Dave was still sat at the breakfast bar with his hands covering his face as he shook his head slowly, Swill was openly gawking at him with Benjamin stood beside him, both hands raised above his head in victory whilst Harry Harding remained frozen to the spot with the fridge door wide open, his hand still on the bottle of orange juice.

And then there was Lara who was staring at him with a smile on her face that to him was full of hope.

How fucking wrong the girl was.

"I uh…" he spoke, his voice as powerful as a clap of thunder in the large room. "I don't suppose I could borrow a jumper, mate?" he nodded towards Harry.

"I don't...you uh…yeah," Harry stuttered, shaking his head. "Of course, um…follow me,"

"Grab me a beer while you're in there," Pete gestured lazily to the fridge.

"Isn't it a little early to be…" Harry trailed off when he caught the look Pete gave him, something between _'kill me now'_ and _'don't make me kick your arse'_.

"Corona, ok?" he swallowed, grabbing one from the inside of the door and holding it out to the blonde who simply took it and uncapped it with his teeth, chucking the cap onto the marble counter before raising his bottle to the rest of the gang and wordlessly heading out into the garden towards the pool house where Harry had taken residence in the past two weeks.

Taking a long sip as he meandered around the colossal pool, his eyes dancing over the marbled surface of the water, Pete laughed quietly to himself.

" _Completely fucked, gone with the wind, balls to the wall in love with you?_ " he murmured, laughing slightly louder as he came to a stop in front of the door to the pool house and banged his forehead against the glass. "Fucking stupid wanker arsehole shithead twat,"

"Easy there, Fabio," Harry reached out and pulled him back slightly, opening the door and ushering him inside. "You don't want to damage that pretty face of yours. Christ knows its not your words that have the ladies swooning,"

He closed the door and leaned against it watching as Pete flopped down onto his bed and immediately dropped his head into his hands.

"Balls to the wall in love with you?" Harry giggled, running a hand through his already unruly hair. "I wasn't expecting Shakespeare or anything but fuck me, Dunham…"

"Mate, do me a favour and hand me one of your queer boy Jack Wills jumpers so I can get out of here and go drink myself into oblivion, will you?" Pete groaned, waving blindly towards the wardrobe. "It's not every day you can say you've ruined your life before 9am so just be a good girl and help me out on this one."

"Ok," Harry laughing, rubbing his jaw as he walked towards the wardrobe, pulling out a grey hoodie and coming to stand in front of the man he had called his friend for the last seven years. "But for the record, you haven't ruined your life,"

He saw Pete's shoulders jolt upward in a silent snort but refused to budge. Their friendship was just as strong as his and Allie's. Unlike Richard who hadn't taken all too well to the presence of someone who God forbid didn't sound like an extra from Mary Poppins, Harry had always seen Pete as a brother, sometimes more so than his own flesh and blood. From PlayStation marathons to 3am pizzas in the pool house and stealing copies of Steve's 'special' magazines, they had been through thick and thin which is why it hurt as much as it did to see him as he was now.

Broken.

"I appreciate the sentiment, Harding," Pete smiled tightly, reaching out and taking the hoodie from his hands. "But we both know there's no coming back from this. I completely fucked that up,"

"How?" Harry frowned.

"Mate, did you not fuckin' hear what I just said?" he burst out. "I just told your sister, my best mate, that I'm in _love_ with her,"

Harry pursed his lips and raised his arms up in an exaggerated shrugging motion.

"And?"

" _And_?" Pete cried. "And that's fucking it. We're done."

"Christ, you actually don't see it, do you?" he chuckled. "Pedro, my sister has been in love with you since the first night she met you,"

"Oh, fuck off, Harding," came the mumbled reply as Pete fought to get his head free of the now infamous Backstreet Boys t-shirt. Holding it up, he straightened out some of the creases and held it up against Harry with a smirk. "It's a perfect fit, call it a gift,"

"Joke all you want, we both know I'll fucking wear it," Harry deadpanned, earning a genuine laugh from Pete as he pulled the hoodie over his head, grateful for something that didn't smell like day old vomit or have Nick Carter's face on it.

"Pete," Harry began, his voice serious as he met his friends eyes. "Listen to me…"

"Mate, she ain't here, is she?" Pete shrugged, leaning down and taking a long sip of beer. "I said what I said and I don't reckon there's any taking it back. And we both know Allie well enough to know that she ain't the silent type when it comes to speaking her mind,"

Harry watched the smile that graced Pete's features, the light that glowed behind his eyes just from saying her name. The poor bastard truly was a goner.

"If she felt…anything," Pete shrugged. "She'd be 'ere."

Harry tried to keep the sadness out of his own eyes; he had learned long ago that Dunham's didn't take kindly to pity. But seeing a lifelong friend standing in front of you with their heart on their sleeve, bleeding and wounded beyond repair, it was hard not to let it show.

"Hang around for a bit," Harry pleaded. "Mate, give her time to process what happened. You know it's…"

"Enjoy the shirt, Harding," Pete interrupted with a pathetic attempted at laughter, hating the fact he could feel tears stinging his eyes. "Just remember, if a boy is only interested in you because of what you're wearing, he's no good for ya,"

Biting down on the inside of his cheek, Harry nodded slowly, feeling a sickness in his stomach. This sounded an awful lot like a goodbye.

"Please," he played along with a grin. "It's what's _under_ the shirt they're after,"

Pete laughed, shaking his head and with one last long sip, drained the bottle of its amber liquid before placing it on the nightstand and looking around the room, letting out a deep sigh.

With a nod, he started towards the door then turned and before Harry could so much as blink, yanked him into a hard hug.

"I'll catch you later, mate," Pete mumbled, not meeting his eyes as he pulled away.

Yeah, this was a goodbye alright.

"Pedro," Harry began, his voice breaking as he watched the blonde pull the door open and stroll through it, out into the expansive garden. The sun was higher in the sky now, bringing with it much needed warmth as its rays meandered through the large leaves of the oaks scattered around the Harding grounds. Not allowing himself a glance back at the house, he started towards the woodland at the very bottom of the garden knowing that if he walked through it he would eventually hit the gates of the private park where he could jump over and find himself in central Kensington. Then it would only be a half hour tube ride until he was home and able to throw himself under the covers and god willing drink himself either to the point where he forgot what had happened or death.

Either would work.

It made sense really; why the hell would Allie Harding, the most amazing woman on earth want to be with Pete Dunham? What the fuck could he even offer her?

"Fucking idiot," he spat at himself, angrily swiping at his eyes from which tears had finally began to spill over.

Why didn't he just leave it? If she hadn't been stood there, pushing him he probably would have just walked away. Maybe spent some time away from her, gone to more matches with Pat and Steve or spent time with the boys. Given himself enough time and space for the feelings to fade.

Yeah right, his mind laughed at him. You'll carry this torch to your fucking death bed, you prick. A cheeky session down the Abbey and a trip to Upton Park isn't going to get her out of your head.

Remembering his first night in this garden and all the nights since; the Christmas eve's he would spend here, his mother in the kitchen laughing with Poppy while he, Steve, Allie, Harry, Lara and Richard played board games and made mad dashes to Richard's study to sneak out bottles of whiskey. The nights he had spent in her room, watching films and feeling his chest pound when he realised she was asleep, her arm falling over his stomach, her head on his chest.

That was all gone. And what was worse was it was all his own doing. All he had to do was keep his mouth shut and even he'd even managed to fuck that up.

He picked up his pace, shoving his hands into his pockets and frowning when he felt something hit his back; rolling his eyes he realised he was walking under the chestnut tree and began walking faster to avoid getting hit on the head.

"Fuck!" he shouted when indeed something did hit him in the head. But this felt bigger than a chestnut and definitely harder.

Turning around with raging eyes, he stopped dead, his stomach plummeting to this feet and back up to rest in his throat when he saw her. Barefoot and still in her pyjama shorts only with an oversized white sweater pulled over her, Allie Harding lowered her Nerf gun and met his eyes dead on, jerking her chin towards the ground where Pete glanced down at saw the other gun at his feet. Realising that the gun and not the chestnut was the culprit, he smirked and glanced up at her, ready to ask her what the fuck her problem was when she beat him to it.

"What if it goes wrong?"

Her voice which was usually so gentle was strong, fierce even as her eyes bore into his. The green orbs belied her tone, he could see the panic in them. Instinct was telling him to take a step towards her, fuck it, to run at the girl and just put his arms around her but with that look in her eyes, the toy gun in her hand may as well have been real. He needed to keep his distance.

"What if I say it back and it goes wrong?"

At that, Pete Dunham damn near had a heart attack. _'What if I say it back?_ ' Holy fuck, did she feel the same way?

"Who says it has to go wrong?" he asked her, not yet confident asking her the question outright.

"Anything!" Allie cried, shaking her head.

She had stood at the top of the stairs completely stoic for almost 20 minutes, somewhat aware of her mother brushing her hair out of her face and Natalie mumbling at her to get her arse in gear through mouthfuls of coco pops. It had taken her mother physically shaking her and simply saying _'Its Pete, Allie. Don't let him go like this'_ for her to run full pelt through the kitchen and the barrage of questions from her friends to find him storming through the garden with his heart on his sleeve and the world on his shoulders.

She had hurt him with her silence and that thought made her chest feel so tight she could barely breathe.

"Anything could go wrong," she carried on, her voice becoming frantic. "You! You just had to fuck things up didn't you?"

Pete found himself taking a step back as she raised her Nerf gun again, shaking it at him far too menacingly for a 5'5 slip of a thing.

"Me?" he choked out a laugh, pointing to himself.

"Yes, you!" Allie barked. "We were fine before you….we were fine. Better than fine, we were best friends,"

"I'm still your best friend, Allie," Pete shook his head. "There's fuck all in this world that'll change that. And that includes me saying I…"

" _Don't_ bloody say it again," she snapped, running her hands through her hair and taking a deep breath.

Pete watched, trying to keep the amused smirk off of his face as she did her usual routine of combing her fingers through her soft hair and pacing like a wild animal. He could see her biting her lip and whispering something to herself, coming to a stop every now and then before starting up again.

"Do you know how the football posts down at St Marks Park got fucked up a few years back?"

Allie stopped, her face scrunched up in exasperation as she stared at him, trying not to focus on the fact that with Harry's slightly smaller build, the hoodie Pete was wearing caused the muscles in his chest and arms to appear more prominent.

"What?" she shook her head, completely thrown off track.

"You were goin' out with that twat from Harry's school, Hugh Grant looking prick with the flicky hair," Pete made a waving motion on his forehead and Allie fought the urge to giggle. "You know exactly who I'm talking about, don't ya?"

Allie bit her lip to prevent herself from smiling again and folded her arms protectively over her chest.

"Well we were all there one day and you brought him with ya," Pete bent down and scooped up the Nerf gun at his feet. "And I saw him kissing you and I went fuckin' mental. I 'ad no idea why but something inside me just…snapped. It was maybe the fourth time in my life I've seen Swill run. Because even though you were my best mate, the girl I'd known for years, the girl I'd let throw up on my brand new trainers, the girl I'd seen snort milk out of 'er nose on more than one occasion…it should have been me kissing you. It should _always_ be me,"

He caught the little gasp she gave out and forced himself to meet her eyes again, noting there were tears there and not letting himself think about whether that was good or bad.

"So don't fuckin' stand there and tell me we were fine as we were," he snorted. "You might have been but I wasn't."

"Me?" Allie shrieked, narrowing her eyes at him. "Don't you even think about putting this on me. I…"

She stopped, clamping her teeth together so hard that she caught a slither of her tongue between them and cringed.

"Alright, let's try another tact," Pete rubbed his jaw, making himself busy examining his Nerf gun and checking there were plastic bullets in the chamber. Happy that there were, he swung it around his finger and smirked. "What if it goes right?"

"What makes you so sure?" Allie asked him, her voice quieter. More nervous. "We're…"

"A fuckin' wreck at the best of times," Pete finished for her with a laugh. "Yeah, I know. You can't cook for shit, you burn everything in sight. Your taste in films is fuckin' dreadful, don't think I've forgiven you for making me see that fuckin' Legally Blonde film at the cinema, either. You're overly emotional about stupid shit like shoes. You talk about skirts and dresses like they're the cure for god damn cancer and you're a fuckin' awful drunk,"

"You're an arrogant arsehole," Allie shot back, firing another shot at him and catching him in the shoulder, making him yelp and laugh all at once. "You think _my_ taste in films is shit? Two words: Football Factory. Oh and don't even get me started on your _'let me give you an hour long lecture on what's historically wrong with this movie'_ policy. You never clean up after yourself, always put empty cartons back in the fridge. Oh and me a bad drunk?" she scoffed. "I once spent a Halloween trying to wrestle you to the ground because you were trying to get into a building site to climb the scaffolding dressed as Spider-Man. Don't ever forget that,"

"Of course I 'aven't forgotten it," Pete told her once his laughter had subsided. The girl knew how to make a speech. "You were dressed as Cat Woman." He smirked at her. "Not something I'd forget,"

"Stop doing that!" Allie laughed, hating herself for it.

"What?"

"Making me laugh!" she bit her lip. "I'm trying to…"

"What?" Pete repeated, his tone less playful. "What're you tryna do 'ere?"

She looked up at the sky for a short moment and then down at her feet, wriggling her toes in the still wet grass and watching the flashes of red from her nail polish peek through the long strands of green.

"I'm scared,"

Her voice was barely above a whisper but he heard it. Jesus, he'd hear that voice through the loudest of storms.

"I'm scared of losing you," Allie looked at him, feeling the first of what she knew would be many tears falling from her eyes and not bothering to wipe it away. "I'm scared of having the person I love more than anything else in the world getting taken away from me because we took a chance we didn't need to take."

Pete stopped dead and looked at her, his eyes wide as his heart pounding painfully against his ribs as though trying to get out. What did she just say?

"Of course I love you," she told him, meeting his eyes dead on. "I'm in love with you. If I go a day without seeing you, its automatically a crappy one. You're the man of my life, Dunham. You have been since the first night I met you and schooled your arse at Golden Eye." She giggled and he honest for fuck felt his heart stop. "I love you. But I don't know if…"

"How can there be a fuckin' 'but' in that sentence?" Pete choked out, amazed he was able to form words at all. "Allie, I know everything about you. The good, the bad and the fuckin' awful and I love all of it." She laughed and he allowed himself a few steps towards her. "And fuck knows you know me inside out. You've seen me at my absolute worst, you pulled me through it. So if after all that, I love you and you…for some fuckin' reason love me," he shrugged, his arms clapping down at his sides as he shook his head at her. "We've wasted seven years. I don't know about you but I don't want to waste anymore,"

Allie looked at him, realising what he was saying and suddenly feeling naked, like he could see right through her.

"What do you want to do then?" she asked, still feeling terrified.

If they went for this, everything would change. And if it went wrong….. She shuddered, not wanting to think about what the damage fallout on that scenario would be.

"Right now?" Pete pointed to the ground, his eyebrows raised. "I want to kiss you. I want to kiss the crap outta ya like I should 'ave done last night. And I want to carry on kissing you for as long as you'll let me. And whether that's a year or a day…fuckin' forever, who cares?" he snorted. "Because I get to say that for x amount of time, Allie Scarlett Harding loved me. And that is fuckin' cool."

Allie giggled, wanting to badly to run into his arms but something was still holding her back; the same fear that had made itself known in her heart when she spoke to Lara last night.

"What if one of us gets hurt?" she asked him, her eyes wide. "What if I hurt you? Pete, I couldn't live with that,"

"It might 'appen. I can't promise you it won't," he shrugged, his azure eyes honest and open. "Lord knows my family 'ave a right old talent for fuckin' things up but I would never, ever hurt you." He stared at her hard, his eyes making her breath catch as she saw the intensity in them. "And I mean ever. And as for you hurting me…"

Pete walked towards her and she held her breath, her entire body closing in on itself as pure adrenaline rushed through her veins. God, he was gorgeous. He came to a stop before her and grabbed her hand which was still clinging to the Nerf gun, making her smile when he lifted it and aimed the barrel right at his heart.

"That thing in there," he tapped his chest. "It's yours. Do what you want with it. Smash the living shit out of it if you want." He smiled when she let out a small laugh. "I mean it. I would rather love you and 'ave you by some miracle love me back and then blow my heart into fuckin' pieces than give this to anyone else. It won't ever belong to anyone but you, Harding. It's that simple. And what happens now won't change that. Nothing will,"

Allie bit her lip again, tasting the tears on it and wondering if he could feel her shaking through the barrel of the gun. So much was going on in her head that she could barely keep track of her thoughts let alone separate them into something coherent. In the battle of love and logic, her heart was winning out anyway so what the hell did it matter?

"Fuck me, you still need convincing, don't you?" Pete laughed lightly, shaking his head before dropping her hand, throwing the gun to the side and then with one fluid motion, cupped her face in his hands and kissed her.

 _Holy fucking Christ._

It took less than a second for Allie's hands to find his chest, sliding up around his neck as his moved down into the curve of her waist and back up again, under her hair to cup her head gently. Pete tried to remember if anything in his life had ever felt this good but then her tongue brushed over his lips pleading for sanctuary and he growled, kissing her deeply and pulling her flush against him so her feet left the floor, toes barely skimming the tops of his trainers.

This was it, they both knew it. Nothing would ever beat this, this is what they were made for. Life for one didn't exist without the other, it was that simple.

Allie moaned softly as his hands skimmed her cheekbones, tracing her like she was made of glass. He tasted like nothing she had ever known and the things he was doing to her…God help her, she was on the verge of ripping her clothes off and jumping him right then and there.

He pulled away from her ever so slightly, still so close than she could feel his lips curving into a grin against her own.

"That comment about Football Factory was a bit below the belt, weren't it?" he lightly kissed her bottom lip, liking the way her eyes were still closed and her heart was thumping madly against him through her sweater. "If memory serves you spent the entire two hours yapping on about Danny Dyer,"

"Don't make me throw another gun at your head," she whispered back, opening her eyes and meeting his full on.

Suddenly it was as though this was how they had always been; nothing felt strange or even alien. This was beyond natural, if anything the seven years that had spent not doing this felt wrong.

"I still have that Cat Woman outfit by the way," she giggled against his lips when he grinned.

"Halle-fuckin'-lujah," Pete murmured back, silencing her loud burst of laughter with another kiss and walking her backwards until she was pressed against the weeping willow next to them, the long arms of the tree forming a curtain around them.

"God, I love you," Allie sighed as his lips drifted across her cheek, stopping just short of her jaw as his head shot up, a light in his eyes she couldn't remember seeing before.

"Say that again," he smirked at her. That God damn smirk.

"I love you," she smiled, knowing then and there the novelty of saying those words and seeing that look on his face would never wear thin.

"Once more," Pete lowered his mouth to hers again.

"I love you," she giggled as his tongue traced her bottom lip, biting down on it gently.

"And again…"

"Oh get bent, Dunham," she rolled her eyes at his laughter.

"Shut up," he grinned, kissing her fully once again. The world seemed to cease around them as her arms came up around his neck again, her body arching against his as she tried to get closer to him and in turn doing some interesting things to his own body.

"Oi, Dunham!"

Pete pulled away from her ever so slightly, cocking his head to one side to work out where Bovver's voice was coming from.

"You still sulkin' or 'ave you two found your plumbs and got your shit together?"

Allie laughed and rested her forehead against Pete's shoulder, feeling his own laughter reverberating in his chest; of course the rest of the world ceasing to be would only last a few moments. They had their friends to contend with now.

"Bit busy at the moment, Bov," Pete shouted back, tucking Allie's hair behind her ears and smiling down at her before making for her neck, his blood screaming through his veins and heading south when she gasped loudly and clutched at his hoodie, biting down on her lip.

"Cheeky fuck," Bovver's voice echoed around them as he turned back to the rest of the gang who were crammed in the French window doorway, staring at him expectantly. "You owe me a tenner, you twat come on, pay up!" he pointed at Swill while the others laughed and went back into the house, the air of happiness around them palpable as though the world seemed right.

For now.

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 **Your reviews are welcomed and treasured in equal measure. Honestly, they keep me going. I hope this chapter did the Pete and Allie romance justuice. Now you just have to prepare for what comes next... love always, El**


	14. Sins of the Father

**First and foremost thank you for all your wonderful reviews, I'm so glad you're enjoying this story! Honestly, I know I say it every bloody time, but it means the world to me, so thank you.**

 **I'm trying to get back to updating regularly, I'm going to aim for a new chapter every weekend. Reviews as always are welcome (don't make a girl beg!) and more than anything thank you for reading, I hope this chapter lives up to its predecessor. The first part was seriously fun to write so I hope you enjoy it, YES there is plenty of Pallie (I LOVE that my obsession now has a ship name!) action in this chapter, its just not at the start.**

 **Thanks again for all your time and love. Big hugs for everyone, El xx**

* * *

"It's on the house,"

Tommy Hatcher raised an eyebrow at the petit blonde behind the bar, narrowing his eyes somewhat as he caught the tremor running through her fingers as she pushed the pint of Guinness towards him.

"Careful, darlin'," he smirked. "You might go makin' an old man blush,"

"My uh…my old man drinks in the Kings," she stuttered. "And I think you fixed my car last year,"

Squinting at her, Tommy leaned on the bar and peered into her face, noting the redness creeping up her neck and wondering how old she was. At least 18 if she was pulling pints.

"Well then," he pulled back and shoved his wallet back into his trousers. "By my book, that makes us friends,"

"Makes _you_ a fuckin' pedo, more like,"

Tommy snorted, turning to face his nephew was he clambered onto the stool next to him and winked at the blonde who got very busy pulling another pint.

"She's the same age as me, old man," Eddie grinned, clapping his uncle on the shoulder. "Nice try though,"

"Cheeky fuck," Tommy slapped his face playfully and took a long sip of his Guinness. "Fuck are you doin' ere?"

The White Horse whilst just as notorious as the Kings Head was the closest thing to mutual ground this side of the river; granted it wasn't often but on occasion you would see rival firms sat across the bar from one another, no punches thrown or words crossed. Just a few old boys having a beer in a local away from their local. Their own little Swiss amnesty in Bethnal Green.

"I'm surprised you've only just spotted me," Eddie grimaced at the large gulp of Guinness he took and made a note that his next pint would be his usual larger. "I fuckin' chased you like a dog all the way from the station. When you said you was goin' for a beer, I didn't think you meant you were heading to Timbuk-fuckin'-tu."

Tommy chuckled and shook his head, glancing about the pub but spotting no familiar faces. Yet. Once word got out he was here, he dreaded to think who or what would descend on the place.

"Yeah well," he sniffed. "I got business down 'ere so finish your pint and piss off like a good lad,"

He went back to his own drink but caught Eddie staring at him through his peripherals. Of course the kid wouldn't take that as an answer. No, that would be far too easy.

"Business," Eddie repeated slowly. "Last time I checked you was a mechanic."

"Always were a bright spark, you," Tommy told him, tapping his temple for effect.

"Sod off," the younger man laughed. "You know what I mean; since when does fixing motors drag you half way across town to Bethnal Green? Who's car you fixin'?" he snorted. "Ronnie Kray's?"

Tommy felt a smirk pull at his lips, turning to snap back at the little shit when something over his shoulder caught his eye. Christ, somethings never did change did they?

"Not quite," Tommy took a slow sip of stout, baring his teeth as he did so. "But you're not as far off as you'd think,"

Eddie frowned, wondering what the hell his uncle was talking about when suddenly he whistled, the high pitched noise blasting through his front teeth and silencing half the pub. Following his gaze, Eddie felt something go cold inside him. Fuck knows from where, but he recognised the man standing by the doors. His arctic blue eyes held a madness in them that made even Eddie Hatcher feel uneasy; his long fingers were flexing as they hung by his sides, his gaze unwavering as he stared them both down.

"Who the fuck is this?" Eddie whispered to his uncle, clambering to his feet, wanting to be ready if anything kicked off. And from the looks of the man before then who could at best be described as a walking time bomb, Eddie supposed that could happen at any given second.

"You 'ear that, me old chum?" Tommy called, the smirk on his face getting bigger as the man walked closer, coming to a stop next to him but still remaining silent. "My nephew 'ere wants to know who you are,"

The man smiled, it was a sickly smile, one that made your toes curl and your palms sweaty. He looked as though he was on edge, the dark shadows hugging his eyes letting on that sleep was as elusive as sanity these days.

"He want my autograph n'all, does he?" the man scoffed. "I came 'ere for business, son. Not some fuckin' Hatcher family meet and greet."

"He's sound," Tommy snapped, his eyes growing serious. "He won't tell no one, will ya boy?"

"I utterin' a single fuckin' word until his spotty little arse is out of my sight," came the reply. "Your choice."

Eddie snorted, shaking his head and leaning forward to leer at the older man.

"Are you gonna let this cunt talk to me like th-…"

"Eddie," Tommy turned, his eyes sharp but not angry. "Give us ten, will ya?"

Eddie froze, his eyes widening as he processed what his uncle had just said. Some bloke he doesn't recognise walks into a pub, starts getting lairy and Tommy's here telling him to piss off?

"Nah," he jerked his chin out defiantly. "I'm alright 'ere,"

"Eddie," Tommy repeated, his voice firmer. More intimidating. "I asked ya once…"

Knowing what that look combined with those words often meant, Eddie did his best to keep the look of rage and disgust off of his face as he snatched his pint from the bar and found his feet.

"I'm goin' out for a smoke." He muttered, pulling a crumpled pack of cigarettes from his pocket. "You girls enjoy your little chat,"

He wiggled his fingers at them and did a little curtsey before making his way towards the doors, shoving through them unceremoniously as he attempted to light his cigarette and not spill his pint at the same time.

"Got a right lairy little prick on your hands there,"

Tommy raised his eyebrows, turning to face Michael Dunham as he stared furiously at the now closed doors Eddie had vanished through.

"One's better than two," Tommy reminded him then winced. "Oh that's right. Word on the street is your two failed abortions don't want fuck all to do with ya anymore,"

Michael shot him a dark look and took a step forward, more than aware that behind him a few of the locals were visibly tensing up, clutching their pint glasses a little bit harder than usual.

"I didn't come 'ere for fuckin' father of the year tips," Michael growled.

"Nah," Tommy sat back on his stool and grinned. "You came 'ere because you need a favour. A fuckin' big one if memory serves,"

"Don't act like doin' this won't solve both of our problems," Michael laughed mirthlessly. "We've both got our reasons for wanting Pat Dunham in the ground."

With that, Tommy's smirk faded, his eyes turning almost black with anger. He tightened his fingers around his pint glass, letting go of it just before it cracked under the pressure.

"You really wanna go ripping those old wounds open, do ya boy?" Tommy half whispered. "Because last time.."

"Last time don't count," he replied with a shake of his head. "You think about the damage my brother caused you and tell yourself a slap was enough,"

"I put him in fuckin' hospital," Tommy snapped. "He learned his lesson,"

"Did he fuck," Michael laughed. "Patrick has always been the golden boy. When half the firm went down for that fight with the Zulus way back when, he got off. When I got laid off from site, he got his own fuckin' company set up." He shook his head in disgust before looking at the man before him. "And as for you…" he smirked. "Well we all know what 'appened there, don't we?"

Tommy stared hard into his eyes, not willing to look away. Not willing to let himself be shaken with the memories of Pat Dunham…

"And yet he's still mincin' about as though his feet don't touch the fuckin' ground," Michael whispered. "My sons, my boys," he clenched his fist against his chest. "They think he can't do no wrong. My wife looks at him like the sun shines out of his arsehole…and you. You still walk around with his name hangin' over your head. He made a fuckin' fool outta ya, Tommy."

"I was there," Tommy barked. "I don't need no history lesson,"

"See I think you fuckin' do," Michael shot back. "Because the Tommy I knew back then…the one I called my mate,"

Tommy glanced up at him and felt not for the first time deep down, a sadness at the friendship he and Michael once had. Pat too. A friendship that crossed borders. And then divided them like Israel and Palestine fourteen years later.

"He wouldn't 'ave let that happen," Michael continued. "So do us both a favour and finish this,"

Tommy took in a deep breath, nodding to the barmaid when she picked up his now empty pint glass and raised an eyebrow at the crack running down the side of it.

"What makes you think I still give a fuck?" he asked Michael, his head cocked to the side. "Why should I clean up your fuckin' sorry mess of a life by getting rid of your big brother?"

"Because he hasn't forgotten what 'appened," Michael shrugged. "So why should you?"

"The fuck are you yammering on about?" Tommy scoffed. "He's off playing Fairy God cunt to your boys, raking in the queens 'eads on the building site, you honestly thing he…"

"He went to Dylan's funeral,"

Tommy stopped, those words knocking through him like knives. They sliced at his insides, leaving him barren and open, the tears in his eyes palpable as he leaned forward and got in Michael's face.

"Don't push me, Mikey," he whispered, using his childhood name, one that had been lost from his lips for twenty years. "Because you know better than anyone what I'll do,"

"I ain't lying to ya," Michael shook his head, seeing the sadness in the other man's eyes. He wondered briefly how he would felt if it had been Steve. Or Pete even. Seeing one of them mown down by a car as they left a footie game, their bone and blood smeared across the pavement.

"He went to that funeral, Tommy." He carried on. "He stood there watching while they put your boy in the ground." He shook his head. "So you tell me he's moved on. You tell me he don't think about your boy no more,"

Tommy stared at him silently, his eyes bulging and shimmering with thick tears as his breath came out in harsh pants against Michael's face.

"That'll be £2.60," the barmaid placed a fresh pint on the counter. "I'm proper sorry, my boss said he'll chuck me if I give another free one away."

Tommy turned to her, catching the embarrassment and youth in her eyes and relenting slightly.

"Did he now?" he pasted a shaky smile on his lips before pointing at a tall, lanky lad behind her examining the spirit levels. "That him, is it?"

"Yeah," she felt herself get nervous for some reason. "He wasn't giving me grief or…or nothin'..he just."

"'Cuse me, boy," Tommy called him over. "You got a problem with this young lady 'avin the manners to offer me a free drink?"

"Once is manners," the young man snorted. "Twice is a piss take. If you want free booze, there's a few tramps outside, ask them for a sip of White Lightening on your way out,"

"Don't you know who I am, son?" Tommy cocked his head, his lips twisting into a real yet sickening smile.

"I don't care if you're Prince Fuckin' Charles, mate," the lad laughed. "This ain't a charity. So pay up or fuck off,"

Michael tensed as Tommy turned to him and laughed before reaching for the pint glass once more only this time leaning over the bar, his body scrawled across it as he smashed it hard into the young man's face. The blonde next to him screamed as blood splattered across her face, her boss' agonising shrieks getting lost in the sound of chairs being scraped back and knocked over with everyone rushing to get out of there.

"You didn't see a fuckin' thing!" Michael turned and hissed at them. "And I fuckin' mean the lot of ya. Anyone fancies dropping names to the old bill and I'll burn your fuckin' house down, you get me?"

"What the fuck did you do?" Eddie bellowed as he ran back into the pub, pushing through the hoards trying to get out and away from the carnage.

"Nothin'," Tommy replied, wiping a drop of blood from his cheek. "We just have a very fuckin' clumsy barman on our hands,"

"Get the fuck out of 'ere before the filth start showing up," Michael snapped, shoving Tommy forward and having the air promptly knocked out of him when the man turned and grabbed him by the back of the neck, forcing their foreheads together so he could see the madness in his eyes.

"I ain't doin' it for you," he hissed. "You're as bad as he is. Your fuckin' name don't mean nothing to me. But Dylan's does. So I'll end it. But it ain't for you,"

He shoved Michael back and walked towards the door, turning and taking his last few paces backward so he could point in his face, a confused and horrified Eddie following him.

"I'll 'ave your brother rottin' at the bottom of the Thames. Just you fuckin' stay on my side, sunshine." He nodded to the blood at Michael's feet and shook his head. "Or before you can choke out so much as a hail fuckin' Mary….you'll be there with 'im."

* * *

"You seriously have to go,"

Pete smirked against Allie's neck as she raised her arms which were currently pinned to the pillow beneath her in a pathetic attempt at shifting him off of her. Ignoring her as he had done for the past twenty minutes since she first ordered him out of her room, he simply carried on kissing his way up and down the soft skin of her neck, gritting his teeth every time she gently moaned his name.

"If my dad catches you, he'll castrate you," she giggled, flexing her hands again in hopes he might let her go. Not that she would use them to do anything trace the muscles in his back. When the man could kiss like this, pushing him away was never going to be an option. "His words, not mine."

"Yeah but your mum loves me," he grinned, pulling his face up to look down into hers. "She'll talk him out of it,"

"Dunham, if she knew you were sneaking into my room every night, she'd sharpen the scissors for him," Allie raised an eyebrow, tracing his cheekbones and feeling the same flutter she always got when he turned his head and kissed her palm.

It had been eight days since the morning in the garden when they had realised the fight against this wasn't a worthy one. Lord knows she had been happier since admitting she loved him, saying the words out loud and seeing the joy in his eyes.

His mouth found hers again, softly at first and then harder, deeper as his hand came up across her waist to cup her breast.

Actually fuck being happier, she was ecstatic.

The transition from best friends to…well, this, was one that Allie had openly admitted to Pete she had been nervous about. It didn't help that by the time they had pulled themselves away from one another in the garden and walked hand in hand back into the house, their friends and her family had taken it upon themselves to start belting Whitney Houston's 'I Will Always Love You' at them. But every night that Pete had come over started as every other night for the last seven years had; he would clamber through her window, knock something off of her mantle as he did so and then they would watch a film or just sit and talk while she got ready for bed.

Only difference was now that when she kissed him goodnight, it was on his lips and it led to him giving her that look which made her body go weak and walking her backwards until they tumbled onto her bed and spent as long as they could without getting caught doing this.

Allie moaned and bit down gently on Pete's bottom lip as without warning, his hands slipped under her camisole, teasing her over her barely there bra. Feeling her gasp, Pete pulled back slightly, begging his body to stay in control just a little while longer, long enough at least to make sure she was ok.

"Too fast?" he whispered, frowning at how husky and thick his voice sounded.

"It took seven years for us to kiss," she giggled, grabbing his t-shirt and pulling him back down to run her tongue over his lips. "I don't think speed is our problem,"

"Hmmm," Pete smirked down at her, winking as he grabbed her free hand again, linking his fingers through hers and pinning them above her head. "That's my girl,"

"Allie?"

"Fuck!"

The blonde shot up in bed, shoving Pete backward with such force that he hit his head on her cast iron bed railings, biting down on his tongue as he did so.

"Shit!" he cried, grabbing at the back of his skull to make sure it was still there.

"Get up!" Allie hissed, pulling him off of the bed and shoving him to the floor.

"Christ, what the hell is goin' on?" Pete frowned at her. "Did I hurt you?"

He worried briefly that despite her saying it was ok, maybe he was moving too fast. The past week every night he had forced himself to leave her room, the saying goodbye portion of the evening was getting harder and harder for him. Pun very much fucking intended.

"Of course you didn't," she smiled softly, cupping his face and leaning in to kiss him, stopping only when she heard the voice again.

"Allie?"

"But if my mother comes in here, she _will_ hurt you." She shoved him down to his knees and pointed to the space under her bed. "I don't care what cockney Kray brother neighbourhood you grew up in, she will rip your balls off and make you juggle them if she catches you in here,"

"Just say we're watching a film," Pete shrugged, doing his best to wedge himself under there.

"Uh huh and after she buys it you can ride your magic unicorn home or maybe sell her some magic beans," Allie rolled her eyes, climbing back onto the bed and leaning over the side to look at him, giggling when she saw how squished he was. "The woman is a lawyer; not only will she smell our bullshit, she'll tell us where the cow to make the steak we ate to crap out the bullshit came from and what its last meal was."

"If I 'aven't told you already, it's the delicate poetry of your speech that I love about you most, Harding," Pete laughed, wincing as one of her ridiculously tall high heels caught him in the eye.

"Save your breath for your prayers, Dunham," she blew him a kiss. "Because if Mama Harding finds you, we're going to need them."

It was at that exact moment Allie's bedroom door began to creak open so she scrambled to make the bed sheets look neat and grabbed for a bottle of nail polish from one of her bedside tables, sitting with her toes out in front of her and aiming for nonchalant.

"Allie?"

Poppy Harding stepped into the large room, her hair in a towel as she raised an eyebrow at her very flustered daughter.

"Oh, hi mum," she smiled, her voice breathy. "Did you call me?"

"Only the three times," Poppy narrowed her eyes. "Sorry, were you asleep?"

"What?" Allie blinked, praying her skin wasn't turning red as it always did when she was nervous.

"No, I was watching a film and painting my nails,"

"Uh huh." Poppy raised an eyebrow, turning her body completely to face the large TV hanging on Allie's far wall. "With the TV off?"

She watched her daughter's face drop slightly and then caught the item in her hands and bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing.

"And do you always use lip balm to paint your nails?"

Allie glanced down at the tube of cherry Chapstick in her hand and cringed, wondering not for the first time how much easier her life would be had she been blessed with Harry's ability to bullshit.

"I'm tired," she breathed, smiling somewhat manically as she chucked the lip balm back onto the dresser and missed. "Very tired. You know…it's been an exciting week, I think I've frazzled my brain,"

"You should try getting an early night," Poppy smiled, walking over to her dresser and coughing to cover up the giggle in her throat. "Ah ha!" she grabbed the bottle of leave in coconut conditioner Allie always stole and grinned. "Got it,"

"Oh, bugger did I steal it again?" Allie winced. "Sorry, Pops,"

Poppy smiled at the nickname, one Allie had picked up when she was just a toddler having overheard her father calling her mother by that name. It had stuck, just as ladybug had for her.

"I'll forgive you," Poppy rolled her eyes, walking over to the bed to place a kiss on her daughter's forehead. "G'night, darling,"

"Night, mum," she smiled, the tightness in her chest loosening up as she watched her mother walk back towards the door.

"And goodnight, Pete."

Allie froze, her eyes wide as she watched her mother turn slowly like something from a horror movie, a huge grin on her full lips. The woman was a fucking witch. She was at the very least into voodoo. There was no other possible way…

"Next time you want to hide your six foot something boyfriend, you may want to consider the en suite bathroom, the closet," Poppy gestured about the room. "Anywhere except under the bed with his feet sticking out the end,"

Allie cringed and sat up on her haunches, shuffling forward slightly and cursing under her breath as she peered through the railings and indeed saw the bare feet of Pete Dunham sticking out from under her bed.

"We were watching a film?" Allie squeaked.

"I'm sure," Poppy laughed then stopped suddenly and pointed at her with the bottle of conditioner, shaking it for effect. "Your father and I used to watch films in bed. Harry was the result of a Godfather marathon,"

"Sweet jesus," Allie moaned, rubbing her forehead as the sound of Pete's laughter drifted out from under the bed.

Walking back into the room, Poppy bent down and peered under the bed, her eyes meeting Pete Dunham's and forcing his laughter to come to a stop. The woman staring back at him had saved his life along with his families, given them more than they could ever pay back and here he was under her only daughter's bed with peach flavoured lip balm all over his neck and his belt unbuckled.

"If you're still here in the morning, I really _will_ rip them off and make you juggle them," she smiled gently at him then at her daughter. "All I ask is that you don't make me regret this and for Christ's sake don't make me a fucking grandmother,"

"Mum!" Allie cried.

"Pedro?" she ignored her, raising an eyebrow at the young man still huddled under the bed.

"Understood," he saluted her, grimacing at the tufts of dust on his arm as he did so.

"Fabulous," Poppy nodded, standing up straight again and practically prancing towards the door, giggling to herself as she did so. "Watching a bloody film!" she laughed harder, kicking the door shut on her way out and leaving the room in silence until Pete's cackle started from under the bed again.

"That did _not_ just happen." Allie cried from behind her hands as she fell back into the nest of feather pillows on her bed.

Pete laughed harder, trying to keep his voice down as he pulled himself to his feet and wiped the dust from his clothes.

"I told ya," he smirked at her, sitting cross legged on the end of the bed and winking. "Your mum fuckin' loves me,"

"Unbelievable," she giggled, blindly jerking her foot out to kick him and giggling harder when he caught it and pulled her further down the bed towards him.

"She's not half as scary as you are," Pete grinned, shaking his head. "I'd take her walking in on us a thousand fuckin' times over the night you came in and caught me going through your underwear drawer,"

"When was that?" Allie exclaimed, lowering her hands and looking at him with wide eyes. Oh dear God, did that mean he'd seen…everything?

"The night you were fixing me up," he told her, both of them knowing what night he meant and not needing to go into further detail. Things were too good right now to have the mere mention of Michael Dunham ruin them. "You went to get food and some clothes for me and when you came back I nearly tore my finger off shutting the fuckin' thing,"

"Oh my God!" she sat up, laughing as it dawned on her. "That explains the weirdness and the blushing,"

"I did not fuckin' blush!" he pointed at her.

"Uh, yes you did," Allie teased. "If I'd known it was because you were going through my unspeakable drawer, I would have understood."

"Yeah well," Pete laughed, rubbing his jaw and praying with all his might a blush wasn't creeping up his neck as he spoke. "Up until that stage I didn't know you had a fuckin' unspeakable drawer so imagine how I felt seeing all that,"

"Hmmm," Allie folded her legs underneath her so she was kneeling and shuffled over to him, placing her hands on his shoulders. She felt goosebumps break out over her skin when instantly his hands found her hips, pulling her closer as he licked his lips.

"So you saw that green lacy thing," she cocked her head to one side and ran her hands down to his chest, feeling his heart hammering underneath.

"Yep," Pete mumbled, swallowing hard and trying to get his voice functioning normally. How the hell she could get him from 0 to 60 in less than a second was scary. The way she was hovering over him so her breasts were at eye level wasn't exactly helping his situation.

"And the red halter neck thing, did you see that?"

Her voice was huskier, her eyes on his but they were darker, making the gold flecks in the ivy green irises stand out even more.

"Yep," he nodded, not trusting his voice to say anything else.

"Hmmm," Allie pursed her lips, letting go of him and sitting back enough to pull her camisole over her head leaving her in periwinkle lace bra, the matching panties to which he could see peeking out from just above her boxer shorts. "How about this one?"

Pete held his breath; granted this wasn't the first time he had seen a girl in a bra. Last year at Bovver's birthday party he had done some pretty regrettable things with Rachel Donahue and like any eighteen year old male, he was no stranger to the internet but this….fucking hell.

He had known since the first time he laid eyes on her that Allie Harding was perfect but never in his wildest dreams had he pictured how soft her skin would look, how tempting.

"This one…" Pete cleared his throat but it didn't seem to rid his voice of any huskiness. "This one I didn't see,"

"Oh," Allie bit her lip and felt his hands tighten that little bit more on her hips. "So what do you think?"

Pete took a deep breath and shook his head lightly, meeting her eyes and making her moan internally at the level of lust in them.

"I think you're making it very fuckin' difficult for me to be a gentleman right now," he told her with a smirk which to his glee earned him a genuine giggle.

"Well," she lifted one shoulder in a shrug and leaned forward, brushing her lips softly against his ear before biting down on it. "Who says you have to be a gentleman?"

Pete moved like lightening, his mouth was on hers before she could so much as breathe and he had her laying under him again, his hands moving over her body making her feel things she honest to God thought were only ever in shitty Glamour magazine articles.

"What if my mum comes back in?" Allie closed her eyes as his lips traced her collarbones, the hollow of her throat and back up. "I think that threat was genuine,"

"Then I'll die a very fuckin' happy man," Pete told her, rolling them over so she was above him and silencing her giggle with another kiss.

They lost themselves as they always did, not wanting to push things too fast. Granted as Allie herself had said, it had taken them seven years to get this far but that didn't mean they were ready for everything just yet. They had time. They had forever, they both knew it. Forever was ahead of them, this was only the beginning and so far against everything Pete Dunham's life had brought with it in its short span, things were perfect.

He had his family, he had the perfect girl, he had-

"Allie?"

They both froze, Pete turning his head to glance at her clock and realising it had only been half an hour or so. No way near morning when he'd promised Poppy he'd be gone.

The door crept open just as Allie had thankfully managed to yank her shirt back on, both of them trying to act casual but giving up on the illusion when Poppy stepped into the room, her blonde hair a fluffy cloud around her head having just been dried and not yet styled into the Princess Di cut she was still going for seven years too late.

"Pete," she swallowed, her eyes heavy. "Darling, come with me,"

"I was just about to piss off," he stuttered, nervous in her presence for possibly the first time in his life. "I didn't mean to…"

"Darling, the police are here," she watched as he froze half way from getting off of the bed, Allie's hand instantly finding his and gripping it hard. "Your mum called saying they were looking for you and she told them you'd be here,"

"What?" Pete frowned, shaking his head. "The old bill are downstairs?" he spoke slowly and pointed downward. "And they want to talk to me?"

"I don't know what it's about," Poppy shook her head and took a step towards him, her eyes blazing and defiant, so much like her daughters. "But whatever this is, Richard and I will be there. We're lawyers and I'll make sure they know that. If they try anything…"

"You're alright," Pete told her, walking over to her whilst Allie pulled on a hoodie and shoved her feet into her trainers. "I'll be alright."

Poppy nodded and gently stroked his face before turning on her heel and walking briskly down the hallway to where she could hear her husband still demanding answers from the two police officers at her door.

"Pete," Allie spoke softly, coming to stand beside him and pulling him to her, her arms wrapping around his middle, her face buried in his chest. "What the hell is going on?"

"I 'ave no idea, sweetheart," he shook his head, cupping her face and looking down into her eyes. "But whatever it is, I'll sort it. You don't have to worry about none of this, you understand me?"

She bit her lip and nodded, her brain running through a million scenarios of what could actually be wrong.

"Allie," Pete spoke firmly, holding her face tighter and training his eyes on hers. "You understand me?"

He didn't want her scared or nervous; he could deal with whatever was going on downstairs but he couldn't walk out of here knowing she was scared. She should never have to feel scared with him around.

"Understood," she whispered, her breath hitching as he kissed her palm and then led her out into the hallway, peering over the bannister and seeing Richard, Poppy and both of the Harding brothers dishevelled from sleep stood in the large foyer staring at the two officers as though they were aliens.

"Mr Dunham?" one of them spoke, his voice younger than the haunted look in his eyes.

"Pete Dunham," he nodded, shaking his head. "What's this about?"

"I'm Officer Gould, this is Officer Marks. We need you to come to the station," the officer spoke. "We picked up a man about an hour ago, wandering the streets intoxicated and he attacked an officer unprovoked,"

"Christ," Pete gritted his teeth and threw his head back. "Fuckin' Steve,"

"He claims to be your father," the officer continued, drawing Pete's attention back to him.

Everyone in the hallway seemed to freeze, a palpable wave of horror descending on them at the mention of Michael Dunham even though not directly by name.

"He won't speak to us until you and your brother come to the station," he shrugged. "We explained we won't let him speak to you before he talks to us but he's adamant you're there."

"My old man hit an officer and he's sat in the tank wanting me to go 'old his hand at 1am?" Pete snorted, shaking his head. "No offense, mate, I know you came all the way out here and I appreciate it but I ain't doin' anything for him,"

"I understand that," Gould nodded. He could see in the young man's eyes he was a good kid and with the exception of his eyes, had nothing in common with the mess that was currently sat in his cell back in Barking. "But you'd be doing us a favour. The sooner you get there, the sooner he starts singing and the sooner I can get him out of my cell because to be honest with you, Pete, I've got bigger and better fish to fry in that part of the city as I'm sure you know."

Pete caught the look in his eye and knew instantly that Gould had grown up in West Ham, that he knew the men who ran that side of the river. That he probably knew Michael Dunham used to be one of them.

"Let me whack some trainers on, yeah?" Pete sighed, rubbing the back of his head.

"Good lad," Gould nodded to him. "We'll 'ave you back here as soon as we can." He grinned. "You can uh, make the journey without your two lawyers, here. You're not in any trouble,"

"You 'ear that?" Pete smirked at Poppy and Richard. "You don't 'ave to bill me for your services after all,"

" _Someone_ might need a lawyer at the end of this," Richard turned to him suddenly, his eyes narrowed. "Its 1am, what the hell were you doing upstairs?"

The two officers laughed in spite of themselves, trying to cover it up with a cough unlike Harry who simply made an obscene gesture to Pete behind his father's back.

"I think that's our queue for your personal safety, Mr Dunham," Gould nodded to the rest of them.

"I'll be with you in a second, lads," Pete smirked, turning to Allie who was bright red and desperately trying to avoid her father's piercing gaze.

"I can come with y-…"

"Don't even think about finishing that sentence," Pete shook his head, rubbing his hands up her arms. "It'd cold and it's late," he lowered his head to hers and winked. "Think I kept you up long enough, don't you?"

She smiled but it didn't quite reach her eyes as she stood on her tiptoes to brush her lips over his.

"Call me as soon as you can, ok?" she whispered.

Pete pressed a hard kiss to her forehead and closed his eyes, breathing her in for a moment before kissing her lips gently.

"I love you," he told her, his eyes searching hers. "I'll be alright,"

Allie nodded mutely, whispering the words back before letting go of him and watching him disappear into the night, the two policemen flanking him as they started towards their car which looked unfathomably out of place next to her father's gleaming Mercedes.

Pete shoved his hands into his pockets and clambered into the back of the car, waiting patiently for the officers to follow suit and tilting his head back wondering how the fuck he had gone from being in bed with his half naked girlfriend to this in the space of fifteen minutes.

"You ok, Pete?" Gould asked once he was in, catching the younger man's eyes in the rear view mirror.

"No, mate," Pete shook his head, leaning forward and staring him down in the mirror. "If you've read my old man's wrap sheet then you know the fucker as well as I do. And you know he don't do chat unless he's got an agenda. And I get the feeling you want to know what it is as much as I do,"

They didn't answer because they didn't need to. Their silence was all Pete Dunham needed to know as the car pulled out of Grenville Manor and into main Kensington, meandering through the empty roads towards the north side of the river.

Towards the one place Pete didn't want to go.

Towards Michael Dunham.

* * *

 **I'm guessing you have questions...well lets just say...to be continued very, very soon...*insert evil laugh here***


	15. The Brothers Grimm

**So I totally get that after 14 chapters, I finally got them together and I haven't done a big lovie-dovie chapter yet. I'm sorry L Its just that without the GSE history, its kind of hard to get them moving anywhere. So here we go with your first step to a BIG lovie dovie chapter…you SO know the one I mean ;) **

**Thank you guys as always for your kind words and eternally loyal readership, its all kinds of badass and I heart you for it. Read, enjoy, review and uh…bombshell alert for this chapter. As a famous and oddly attractive Disney lion once advised you… _be prepared_ ….**

* * *

The interior of West Barking police station was a stark contrast to the Harding household. In fact as Pete Dunham stepped inside and blinked painfully into the overzealous florescent lighting, he found himself wondering if the half hour journey across town had been a dream and Allie had knocked him out when she had pushed him off of her bed.

Reaching behind him to feel the bump already developing on the back of his skull and then hearing the high pitched, two fingered whistle he knew all too well, he realised that no matter how much he wished, he likely wasn't imagining this.

"Fuckin' state of you," Steve shook his head, standing up and walking over to his brother with a smirk.

"What?" Pete frowned, glancing down at his hoodie and jeans and wondering what was wrong with him.

He got his answer when Steve tapped a finger against what he supposed was a faint red mark on his neck. He cringed and shook his brother off, rolling his eyes at his laughter as they sat down together on the unfathomably uncomfortable seats lining the hallway.

"So do you know why we're here?" Pete asked, nodding to a police officer who breezed past them.

"Fuck if I know," Steve shrugged. "I was just getting' in from the boozer when the old bill walk up the garden path behind me. Luckily mum's in bed so she don't know we're here."

With him, Pete finished silently. Moira would go mad if she knew that Michael was within a foot of either of them and as much as Pete had no desire to take on his father in a fight, he'd choose that a million times over going toe to toe with their mother.

"This is gettin' serious, Pete," Steve lowered his voice, mimicking his brother's body language and leaning forward in his chair, his elbows resting against his knees. "Words getting' out about the old man losin' his fuckin' marbles in the pub and throwing out threats. People…they start seein' this, start thinkin' we're weak. That we're backin' down." He turned his head and met Pete's gaze full on.

"We can't let that happen, Pete." He spoke quietly, yet firmly. "Me and you and Pat, we _'ave_ to keep the Firm movin'."

Pete stared back at him, not certain of what to say. Pat had spoken to him at length that day they left the stadium about the firm, confirming all the suspicions Pete had had about his family growing up and all of his mother's worst fears. There were countless firms in London but a small few had such a reputation that even abroad, their status was recognised…revered even.

The GSE was one of them.

It had started with the Dunham's back in the thirties down on the docks and had carried through the rampages of the 70's and 80's to now…to this moment here. Pat and Michael Dunham had been as notorious just a few years ago, West Ham's answer to the Kray twins, Pat had said without much humour in his voice. The Dunham boys were a force to be reckoned with, the one firm most would shy away from.

Except Millwall.

Remembering how Pat had snapped and reached for his drink when Pete asked why them, he frowned and despite the million and one questions running through his mind found himself unable to do anything but nod.

"What do you need me to do?" Pete asked him, his eyes darting about the hallway.

"Not here," Steve shook his head as though reading his mind. "This ain't really the place, I just need to know you're on board. Whatever goes down?"

"On my word, mate," Pete nodded. "Whatever you need me to do, I-…"

"Boys?"

Both men stood at the same time, looking at Officer Gould as he stood at looking at them, cocking his head towards the door next to him which was kept slightly ajar by his foot.

He cleared his throat and leaned his head down, catching Pete's eye as he did so.

"He makes a move," Gould told him, his voice low. "You knock on this door. We know about what he did to you…to your mother,"

Gould watched as something hardened in the younger man's eyes and felt the same hatred ebb through his own veins.

"There isn't a copper in this building who wouldn't want a pop at him." Gould nodded. "So I mean it. He so much as blinks at you in a way you don't like…"

He knocked on the door to demonstrate and smiled tightly as Pete clapped him on the shoulder and then followed his brother through. Contrary to every television show Pete had ever watched, the room his father was sat in was light, airy…clean even. The token two sided mirror lined the back wall and a small water cooler sat bubbling in the far corner but other than that, it was just a room.

The being sat in the middle of it however was far from being just a man.

In his blood splattered and torn shirt, Michael Dunham looked every bit the monster. His eyes were glazed and darting between his two sons as they stood in the door way, staring him down like the dangerous animal they knew him to be.

"My boys," his voice slithered through the room, a sickening slur to it that Pete could feel even made Steve recoil somewhat. "Good of you to come at such short notice,"

He grinned at Pete, a mass of bloodied and missing teeth as he tapped the side of his neck.

"See you been keepin' busy," he laughed. "How is little Allie?" his eyes narrowed and he smirked, seeing Pete's fists clench. "Nice and tight, I bet,"

Steve wasn't sure who moved first but he refused to let himself shout out in pain as Pete rammed forward, ignoring the shout of warning he gave as he hurled himself towards the table.

"Pete!" he snapped, sending a dark stare towards their father who was still laughing. "Don't give that piece of shit what he wants," he lightly slapped his brother's face, pulling him into something between a hug and a restraint hold. "Oi, fuckin' look at me. Do not react to the shit comin' out of his mouth."

"Always was the sensitive one, wasn't ya?" Michael rubbed his jaw thoughtfully as he watched them.

Pete kept his eyes trained on him, not letting up on Steve's hold around his chest but silently thanking God it was there to begin with. If he was let lose right at the second, he would murder Michael Dunham, it was that simple.

"See now it used to piss me off, you bein' a little bitch about everythin'," Michael continued, lacing his hands together neatly on the table. "Steve would always scream and shout, let me know where I stood. But you," he narrowed his eyes. "Whatever I hit you with, my fist, the wrench, that night with the brick, you remember that one, don't you Petey?" he smiled and leaned forward. "You never did nothin' to stop me. And I always thought that you were weak because of it,"

"Now I reckon I might 'ave been wrong," he pointed at him. "You're the dangerous one. Because you can take it…to a point. And when you reach that point, I reckon you're capable of just about anything."

He shook his hands in a _'ta-dah'_ gesture as he leaned back in the chair.

"Now am I right or am I right?"

"Why are we 'ere?" Pete demanded, his voice low and dangerous.

"I wonder what it would take for you to snap," Michael carried on, his voice taking on a sing song quality as he shrugged emphatically. "See you, you're strong, you can take the pain but if it's someone you care about. Like Stevie, here," he gestured to the older man who stopped for a moment and stared back at him, his lips curling up in a snarl.

"You'd kill for him, wouldn't ya, boy?" Michael jerked his chin in their direction. "Same with your mum." He chuckled. "And I dread to think what you'd do if I touched a hair on the head of your little piece of west end pink,"

Pete swallowed hard and grabbed his brother's fist which was still locked around his chest hard enough to make Steve hiss out in pain.

"You're _just_ like me, Petey," Michael told him. "And that kills me as much as it kills you,"

"I'm gonna give you one more chance to tell me why we're here," Pete told him, his voice cold but his eyes were wild, the azure depths flashing a frightening black almost like a storm. "Or so help me God, pigs or not, I'll reach down into your fuckin' throat and pull the words out myself. And if any internal organs happen to come with them, then all the fuckin' better,"

Steve glanced up at the noise behind him and saw Officer Gould peering through the door, one hand on his belt as he glanced between Pete and Michael. Shaking his head, Steve cleared his throat and with all his strength pulled Pete back a few steps further, distancing the two men.

"Easy, mate," Steve told him, trying to keep his voice calm and soothing despite being as ready to rip their father's throat out as Pete was. "The last thing I want is to end up in a fuckin' cell with you all night. You snore like a right twat."

Against his will, Pete smirked and turned to look at him, seeing the pleading look in his eyes and relenting somewhat. He knew deep down that whatever Michael Dunham brought them here for, this wasn't it.

"You need bail, don't ya?" Steve turned to look at their father and felt nothing. Not even hatred. He mattered that little. "Well we ain't interested. You wanna go about smacking coppers and being a cunt, then power to ya, old man. But we ain't here to clean up your mess,"

Shoving Pete forward he moved to follow when Michael's voice stopped them.

"We missed one, didn't we, Petey?"

Hating himself for it, Pete froze and turned ever so slightly, needing the old fucker to know that if nothing else, he couldn't hurt them anymore.

"You still fuckin' yappin'?" Pete narrowed his eyes and shook his head. "We're done 'ere, old man."

"Pat," Michael laughed, slapping his forehead in an exaggerated 'duh' gesture. "The great and wonderful Patrick. How could we 'ave forgotten him? You'd do anything for him, wouldn't ya? Both of ya. Even when you was kids, the sun somehow shone out of his arse."

Michael shook his head in disgust, a few strands of greying hair falling into his eyes that once upon a time had been identical to that of his youngest sons. Unlike Pete's however, Michael's had long since been robbed of their youth and charm. All that was left were ghosts and hatred. The man was a walking void. A sum of nothing.

And there was nothing more frightening that a man with nothing left to lose.

"Unconditional that kind of love is," he snorted. "Nothin' else like it in this world. You wished it was your old man, still do probably. Not that I can blame ya," he lifted his hands which were still cuffed and shook the chains for effect. "I ain't winnin' no prizes, am I?"

"I dunno," Pete shrugged. "You seem like you might be in for a shot with cunt of the year,"

"Always were good with words, weren't ya, Petey?" Michael laughed. "Always a smart lad. So let's 'ave ourselves a brain teaser, shall we?"

He leaned forward and squinted at them, licking his lips manically and then smacking them loudly.

"What do you call a man who leads a firm, one of the best firms in jolly old and then buries it with one fuckin' mistake and let's his brother pay for it?"

Both Pete and Steve glanced at one another and then back at their father; a sickening feeling came over them both. There was something different about the way their father was talking, a darkness in his eyes that wasn't there purely to taunt them but to warn them.

"What do you call a man who finds out his wife can't 'ave kids so he fucks about and gets another bird up the duff?"

Pete turned and felt Steve's hand slip from his shoulder, only this time it didn't come back up to restrain him, both of them too caught up in what their father was saying to worry about anything but.

"What do you call a man who has an affair with the wife of the head of a rival firm, gets her pregnant and walks away from the kid, secretly goin' to his footie games every Sunday until one mornin' out of nowhere, he watches the son he's never admitting to 'aving get mown down by a car and sees his brains gettin' smeared across the road like Sunday mornins' jam on toast?"

Pete felt a chill unlike anything he'd ever known fall over his body; his throat clenched reactively as his eyes widened and he found himself unable to breathe, wanting desperately to gulp at the air he knew was all around him but couldn't even blink.

No, oh please fucking God, no.

"Come on, Petey," Michael taunted, his lips twisting back into that same sickening smile. "You're a smart lad, you should have worked this out by now,"

Pete shook his head and turned to look at Steve who was staring at an invisible spot on the floor, his eyes brimming with tears as his fists clenched and unclenched by his sides.

Pat Dunham had been Dylan Hatcher's father.

Tommy Hatcher, the head of Millwall had knowingly raised a son that wasn't his, that in fact belonged to the name Dunham. Had Nancy known? Did their mother know? Everything Pat had told Pete after the match seemed to fall into place in that moment. He had known about the childhood friendship between Tommy, Michael and Pat but that it had divided once the firms had come to the forefront…but this…this made more sense. Pete had thought about the lads, about Bovver, Swill and Dave and if them running with another firm would be enough for him to write them off. Not in a million years. But something like this…this could and would destroy even the strongest and oldest of friendships. This was the ultimate betrayal.

"You're fuckin' tellin' me," Steve pointed, his eyes wide as he shook uncontrollably. "That Pat was Dylan Hatcher's old man?"

" _Ding, ding, ding, ding, ding_!" Michael shouted, clattering his handcuffs against the table loudly, loud enough for Pete to close his eyes briefly and cringe. "Come the fuck on, Pete. You're meant to be the smart one here!"

He saw his son mutter something and leaned forward, using both hands to cup his left ear.

"Once more, I'm a little hard of hearing these days,"

"I said you're fuckin' lying!" Pete shouted, lurching forward and slamming both hands down on the table. "You're a sad, washed up piece of shit who has nothin' better to do with his time than try and fuck other people's lives up. Bring 'em down to your pathetic little level. Well I ain't buyin' it. So go fuck yourself, Michael." He spat in disgust. "I don't care if you rot in here, I just hope you fuckin' suffer while you do,"

Pete laughed and shook his head, throwing his arms out as he stared down at the man he had once been so desperate to please.

" _This_ why you brought us here at 1 in the fuckin' morning? To rattle some school yard rumour bollocks and hope we might give enough of a fuck about what you 'ave to say to do something about it?" he snorted. "You're actually lower than I gave you credit for,"

"You really don't believe me, do ya?" Michael raised an eyebrow, seemingly not bothered threatened. "Go ask him then. Your hero. Go see big man Pat and ask him if this is true,"

"And what makes you think I'd want to waste my fuckin' time doin' that?" Pete snapped.

"It ain't necessarily your time that's precious, Petey," Michael jerked his chin towards the hallway where he could hear the guards apparchaing to take him down. "Things 'appen in this life, accidents, misfortunes," he smirked. "You never know when you might get the chance to ask him again,"

Before Pete could ask him what the fuck he meant by that, two officers appeared, pushing through him and Steve, each of them taking one side of their father and leading him towards the door. As they passed him, Pete could smell the liquor on his father's breath, see the blurriness in his eyes and it turned his stomach.

"Just ask him," Michael hissed. "Ask him and see what he says. I might be a cunt, but I never lied to you, Petey. Either of ya," he craned his neck around to glance at Steve. "Still think he can do no wrong?"

His laughter drifted down the hall as they led him out, the door shutting slowly on the two remaining Dunham men as they looked first at each other and then at the floor, both of them wondering where the hell they went from here.

* * *

"The bloody police station! And at 1 in the sodding morning, I mean what am I meant to think?"

Allie felt her head jerk back upright as she glanced about the cramped kitchen, her eyes landing on Moira Dunham as she shoved her hands surreptitiously through her hair and stared desperately at her. Much like her sons, Moira's eyes were a stark almost unnatural shade of blue the intensity of which seemed heightened this morning as they shone with unshed tears.

With shaking hands, she lifted her coffee to her lips only to slam it back down again hard enough for some of the liquid to crash over the top and onto the table.

"Both of them!" she shook her head. "And no one will tell me a bloody thing!"

"Moira, its alright," Poppy breathed, placing a calming hand on the woman's arm, just as she had done the first night they met nearly eight years ago. "If needs be, I can send Richard down there, he'll make sure they're alright,"

Smiling at her mother, Allie remembered certainly not for the first time why she loved this woman as much as she did. Not five minutes after Pete leaving had she ushered Allie upstairs and informed her they were to get changed and head over to Moira's, that she deserved to know what was happening. The drive across London had been peaceful and quick at 1.40am, however now two hours later with the London sky still dark and brooding without even the hint of the first rays of sunlight, Allie Harding found herself wishing for her bed, preferably with Pete Dunham in it.

"'ere,"

She blinked as Moira's voice, now much softer and not edged with pure panic fell on her.

"Why don't you go upstairs and get some sleep, darlin'?" she smiled gently at the blonde. "He'll need you when he gets back and I don't you'll be much use to him knackered,"

Allie was unable to help the giggle that escaped her throat and felt a blush that she was sure had nothing on the colour of Moira's cheeks make its way up her neck.

"That came out right bloody wrong," the older woman dropped her head into her hands whilst Poppy laughed and laid her head on top of Moira's, winking at her daughter and pointing towards the hallway.

"You heard her," Poppy laughed. "Get your mind out of the gutter and your arse up to bed,"

"Mum, I want to help," Allie shook her head, biting her lip lightly. "I can make us some more cof-..."

"I don't think caffeine is going to be any of ours friend right now," her mother countered. "Now why don't you make the most of this landmark moment when for the last time probably ever, I'm openly _encouraging_ you to go upstairs to your boyfriends room and get into his bed,"

"I love that no matter how serious the situation, you find a way of making me feel horrifically awkward," Allie rolled her eyes but dragged herself to her feet regardless, walking over to Moira and standing behind her chair, leaning down to place her head on her shoulder.

"I work with the material you give me, darling," Poppy shrugged. "Social awkwardness is all part of the Harding charm. Throw raging teenage hormones into that and BOOM! I'd have to be inhuman to resist,"

"Why in Gods name did you allow this creature into your life?" Allie cocked her head at Moira who laughed in return. "You could do _so_ much better. If its friendship you're looking for, have you considered Satan as a step up from my mother?"

"Oh Alyssa," Poppy sighed. "You still don't realise that we're one in the same?"

"You can pout all you like, you are NOT Elizabeth Hurley in Bedazzled," Allie kissed Moira on the cheek before leaning in and doing the same to her mother, briefly pausing to whisper her love and thanks into her ear. Poppy squeezed her hand and winked gently as she started down the hallway, leaving the two women to talk openly about their motherly fears as they wanted to without her there to either throw in her two cents or argue with them.

Unlike her own home, the Dunham staircase was short and steep which for once she was grateful for as it carried her quickly up to the landing and straight onto Pete's room. Stepping inside, she smiled and took in a deep breath; everything smelled liked him, posters for various bands littered the walls, West Ham memorabilia scattered around and of course clothes thrown here and there.

Opening her eyes, she took a step towards the bed, stopping only when something moved by the window and she turned, letting out a small scream that thankfully didn't carry through the closed door.

"What the hell are you doing?" Allie panted, a hand clutching her chest as though trying to keep her heart from pounding its way out of her rib cage as she watched Pete raise his head to look at her from where he was perched against the window sill, his long legs stretched out before him.

"I was about to get into bed," he raised an eyebrow. "What the hell are you doing?"

"Getting in there first," she raised an eyebrow at him. "And if you're any kind of gentleman, you'll let me,"

"I thought being a gentleman was optional?" Pete grinned, reminding her of what she had said to him earlier. Catching the faint blush on her cheeks, he wondered if in that moment it was possible for anyone to love something the way he loved her.

"Only when I have my shirt off," Allie shrugged, smiling when he let out a laugh that although genuine, didn't even try to meet his eyes.

"What happened?" she half whispered, taking a step towards him, sensing the turmoil running through him and not wanting to crowd the poor guy.

Pete snorted and shook his head, glancing back up at her again and seeing the fear, worry and more than anything love in her eyes. Remembering the things his father had said about her, he gripped the window sill behind him hard enough for some of the wood to splinter and bury itself in his palms.

How the hell could he even begin to tell her about the things Michael Dunham had said?

"What would you do, right," Pete sniffed, meeting her eyes. "If you found out everything you've been brought up with, everything you thought you knew was based on a lie?"

Allie frowned, trying to make sense of what he was saying but finding it difficult to follow. She was too wrapped up in the anguish in his eyes, the usually bright blue was dark and tortured, his fingers twisting around one another as he fought to keep his calm.

"What if I'm like him?"

The words caught her off guard and she blinked, shaking her head as she looked at him hard. His eyes were shimmering with tears but his jaw was set in rage, his entire body screaming for control. He was on the verge of falling from a precipice from which she had no idea of how to pull him back. He was asking her if he was like his father. The boy who had defended her throughout their childhood, who had given her the actual shirt from his back when he thought she was cold, who had gotten four trains across London every morning for six weeks when she had broken her left when they were 13 just to walk her to school. The boy who had dragged his friends to see every stupid stage play she had been in, who had given her a piggy back home when she had the tiniest blister in history on her heel, who had shown up on her doorstep with flowers he'd stolen from his neighbours garden when her dog died.

 _That_ boy was asking her if he bore any resemblance to Michael Dunham.

"I used to think I was like Pat, y'know?" he told her, shaking his head lightly. "But what if they're the same? What if I'm the same?"

"Hey," Allie snapped, stopping him from going any further. Before he could blink, she was in front of him, standing between his legs, her hands cupping his face. Looking into her eyes, he felt his heart do that same weird jittery thing it had done the past seven years and fought the urge to smile. Fuck, his girl was gorgeous.

"You are a lot of things," she shook him gently. "Loudest drunk ever, terrible chooser of films...disgraceful dancer," she giggled when he snorted through his tears. "But you are not him. You never have been and you never will be."

Allie let one of her hands drop down to his chest and lightly tapped her fingernails over his heart.

"This is too big for that," she smiled when he leaned down and gently pressed his forehead against his. "I don't know what's going on, I don't know what weird, sick games your dad is playing and you don't have to tell me. I won't make you," she bit her lip. "But please, for God sake know if nothing else that you are not him,"

Pete stared at her for a long moment, his forehead still against hers as his hands found her hips, pulling her into him so he could bury his face in the side of her neck. She smelled of cinnamon and vanilla and something exotic and flowery that was strictly her. He wanted so badly to tell her what had happened down at the police station but he didn't know how. After they had left, Steve had informed him he was heading back to Pat's to get some sleep but Pete couldn't follow him. Now that Michael was in prison, their mother was back at home and they were safe. Safer than he would feel at Pat's at any rate and that was something he never thought he would say.

"Baby," Allie whispered, pulling back just slightly. "Pete, look at me,"

Before she was far back enough to meet his eyes, Pete's mouth was on hers, hungry and demanding, borderline violent. Allie moaned into him and instantly wrapped herself around his body, more than willing to let him pour whatever it was that was bothering him into her. He was everywhere, his hands moving over her body, lifting her and pinning her against the wall. Pete gently pulled on her hair, urging her head back so he could run his tongue down her throat. He had never wanted or needed anything the way he wanted her at this second; it was as though every cell in her body was screaming to his, making him crave her, as though she was the only thing that could stop the pain.

"You're all that matters to me," he whispered against her lips. "Fuck, I love you so much,"

Allie swallowed hard, gently wiping a falling tear from his cheek with her thumb and kissing his forehead gently, feeling his grip loosen on her enough so that she could unwrap her legs from his waist and slide down his body, her bare feet hitting the floor with a soft thud.

"I love you, too," she smiled. "But..."

"My mum and I'm _assuming_ your mum are downstairs," he finished for her, tucking her hair behind her ears.

"I'm in possibly number 3 of my top 5 un-sexiest pyjama ensembles," Allie gestured down to her burgundy flannel pj bottoms and grey sweater.

"I also have a single bed with West Ham sheets on it that I've had since I was eleven," Pete winced, gesturing over to the messy bed spread which was the same way he had left it the night he moved out and into Pat's.

"And it probably hasn't been washed in all that time either," Allie grimaced. "Dunham, granted I was never going to ask you to draw me like one of your French girls or expect doves to be let loose but no girl wants to lose her virginity in an emotionally frayed 3am quickie in decade old bedding with their mother downstairs,"

"Christ," Pete stared at her seriously. "You can be a right fuckin' diva when you want,"

She tried to keep a serious face when he grinned at her. His laughter, this time heartier warming her to the core as he lifted her and carried her over to the bed. The only way they could both fit was by her sleeping on top of him completely, his arms coming around her to keep her warm. Safe. Home.

"If you want to tell me," she mumbled into his chest, brushing her hands up his muscular arms to curve around his neck. "You can. You know, if you wanted,"

He smiled into her hair, remembering the first time she had told him that on the very night they met. How could he tell her what he knew? That his family was born with rage and violence in its blood? That his father and uncle had dominated London through intimidation and gang violence and that he and Steve were on the verge of following in their footsteps? That Pat, the man who had kept him on the straight and narrow his whole life had lied to them constantly? That his father was descending into a madness even Pete feared?

Staring down at her as she laid her chin on his chest, Pete smiled gently and ran his fingers through her hair, his heart racing when she turned her head and kissed the tips of his fingers. Could he risk telling her all of this? What if she suddenly realised in that moment when he already knew? That she was better than this bullshit? That she could do better. That she would do better, all she had to do was blink at any man in London and he'd be at her feet? That she didn't need to inherit his family's bullshit.

"Can I tell you later?" he asked her, his voice barely above a whisper.

"You can tell me whenever," Allie smiled sleepily, her eyes growing tired. "I'm not going anywhere,"

Pete took a deep shuddering breath as she snuggled into his chest and he tightened his arms around her, trying to make himself feel as sure as her words had sounded.

"You promise?" he kissed her hair, staring out of the window as somewhere far in the east, the first rays of amber broke through the still cloudy skies of London.

"Cross my heart and hope to die," Allie giggled, closing her eyes.

For whatever reason, those words turned Pete Dunham's insides to ice as he recalled his father's words from earlier. What would he do if anything happened to her? To Steve? To Pat even now?

Michael Dunham was right in some respects, there were parallels between he and Pete but they started and ended with the madness they both possessed. An inability to know when to stop when it came to defending what they loved most. The only difference was, Michael didn't have anything to love anymore and Pete did.

And no matter what it took, he would protect it. His father was waging a war and there was nothing more dangerous in a war than civilians; innocents who were dragged into the bloodshed no matter what their stance or understanding of the battle itself.

Pete had thought that it was the man with nothing to lose that you feared the most, but quite the opposite. The man with something to lose had that thought to keep the fires burning, to keep him fighting, bleeding for and through whatever it took.

If there was a war here, he would be ready. Fuck, he already was. He just needed to know who was on his side.

Staring...with Pat Dunham.

* * *

 **So the Dunham family secret is out. Pat isn't the one stop hero we all thought he was. Come on, when do I ever write a character THAT clear cut?! Aiming to have a new chapter up for you at the weekend :)**


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